


Firestone

by perseus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Awkwardness, Falling In Love, Friendship, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Quidditch, Slight OOC, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, mentions of violence/blood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2016-01-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:11:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4609689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perseus/pseuds/perseus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even in a world designed for perfect matches, love was unfair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, a soul mate fic, how cliché. i like the trope, though. and, to be fair, there doesn't seem be many hp ones. so.  
> anyway, this is my first fic ever posted so please be, if not kind, then constructive in any criticism.  
> unbeta-ed so my apologies for any errors.

_Thursday,_ _7 th November 1996_

_Evening_

Harry was scrambling frantically through his potions textbook, looking for an obscure point he'd referenced in a previous essay, when Ron rushed into the dormitory. 

"Mate, you _have_ to help me," said the redhead, eyes bulging but mouth pressed in a determined line. He had just came from the shower and was clad in only a, thankfully rather huge and fluffy, towel.

"Um, what is it?" Harry eyed his half naked friend warily and put the book aside. He stood up, hoping it wasn't something gross; like vomit in the loo. Ron did look a bit green around the edges. 

"You see," he said, grabbing Harry by the arm and hauling the shorter boy to his side. Then he stopped, turned alarmingly pale, and dropped Harry's arm like it'd turned into a slimy snake.

"Okay," Harry said, like this sort of thing happened all time. Which, not actually, but close.

"Just come here quickly," Ron muttered and marched through the bathroom door, Harry following less enthusiastically. With his eyes squinted near shut, he looked around for blood splattered tiles or, more likely, spiders chilling on the ceiling. Finding nothing of the sort, Harry breathed easier.

"Nice," he commented. "You even mopped up the water afterwards this time." "Evanesco," said Ron. 

Harry drew up short because: one, Ron had _remembered_ a spell he usually 'has no use for, Hermione always vanishes the food from my shirts anyway' and two, he sounded dismissive about performing a spell in a scary Hermione way.

"What." He didn't know how the standard response was supposed to go because this _never happens._ Ron shrugged, "Whatever, s'not hard." Harry might have stopped breathing. "And anyway, that's not why we're here." Oh good, Harry was slightly terrified for a moment there. Crisis somewhat averted.

"C'mon then, out with it," Harry said briskly, not even in the mood to gently prompt the matter along.

"Ineedyoutosearchmybody," Ron blurted in one breath, again changing the colour of his face and a disturbing percentage of his chest. Crimson, Harry supposed, or puce. Or was that a more purple colour? Either way, there were zero freckles in sight; he felt they had the right idea.

" _What,_ " Harry said again. Ron cringed and scratched his neck awkwardly ( _yeah, mate, same_ ) and said more slowly, "It hasn't shown up yet, you know, the tattoo?  And... Mate, you know I wouldn't normally ask but..." an awkward foot shuffle, "Just help me, please? It must be somewhere I can't see."

They both huffed out breaths at the same time. Ron in embarrassment and relief probably. Harry in weariness and resignation and disgust and amusement and so much despair. His life, always these glamorous surprises.

Although, he supposed, he _wasn't_ all that surprised. The fates always bollixed his life up anyway and plus, he _had_ noticed a distinct lack of romantic gesture toward Hermione, an exact week after Ron's birthday, which, "What do you mean, though? I thought you knew it was Hermione, I mean, I'm certain _she_ doesn't know any other Ronald's."

At that, Ron both grimaced and yet perked up at the same time; the way he would when his mum put pudding on the table and also announced that he had to do dishes afterwards. Great face that, Harry's favourite he reckoned (followed by his 'I'm disgustingly in love with you Hermione but why do you have to bloody ruin my lazy Sunday with bloody homework' face, which was pretty hilarious).

"Really? I mean I figured- Not that I'm being all arrogant! But I wasn't sure and she wouldn't tell me and-" Ron stopped, frowning at Harry in either confusion or annoyance, he wasn't all too clear. Ron could be amazingly expressive but also rather vague faced, weirdly enough. "Hang on. How do _you_ know what her soulmate tattoo says?"

"She told me," Harry shrugged. Hermione had also told him specifically not to mention it to Ron until he came to her himself. Likewise, Ron refused to acknowledge any feelings until he had solid proof. Which didn’t make much sense to Harry but whatever. 

"Oh," Ron said, trying rather bravely for nonchalance despite his obvious hurt and jealousy. Harry stared at him for a moment. Seriously? The guy is a complete git the entire time to Hermione and he wonders why she hadn’t said anything?

Harry sighed, "She probably didn't tell you because..." he scrambled for a contrived yet not entirely untrue reason. Ron was an idiot but still his best mate so he figured he could maybe assure him a little, "Because she's... scared? That… you don't have her name tattooed as well."

Harry grinned and crossed his arms smugly, rather proud of himself for coming up with such a bullshit yet logical reason. After all, sad though it was, it wasn’t unheard of for a thing like that to happen; even in a world designed for ‘perfect’ matches, love was unfair. 

"That's stupid. Never happened before, has it?" Harry bit his lip because Ron was just, so _wrong_ about that. It would probably be counter-productive to bring it up right then, though.

But, it seemed, rather than sounding suspicious (for once in his life) Ron actually seemed to be thinking it over. Then he nodded and frowned, "Yeah, seems like the sort of thing Hermione would get into her head. I just need to show her otherwise, don't I?"

Sometimes, Ron really surprised Harry with his astuteness and had to remind himself not to be so uncharitable. After all, it wasn't Harry who kicked his best mate's arse at chess every single time.

"So," said Ron, pale and hesitant once more. "Just. Please, yeah?" Harry grimaced, sighed, rolled his eyes to the ceiling and said, " _Fine._ "

Ron gave a smile that managed to convey: 'mate you know you love me, even if you should never say so out loud'. Harry grinned in a 'you're so not getting a Christmas present ever again, you realise' way.

"But," Harry added aloud. He pointed a stern finger, "If it's like on your bum then I’m sorry to say-" "Merlin's soggy tits, no one is going near _anyone's arse. Why would you say that._ " Harry tried to maintain a grave face at Ron’s scandalized tone. He mostly failed.

* * *

  _Sunday, 10 th November 1996_

_Early morning_

"So," Harry started casually, spooning a dollop of porridge into a bowl. "The left dimple in the small of your back, eh?"

Hermione jumped and squeaked something that may have been "what" but most probably was "fuck". For someone so swotty and 'prudish', for lack of a better word, she had a nasty mouth when startled. A fact which never failed to entertain.

"What did you say?" she hissed through Harry's snort of amusement and mockingly admonishing finger of glee. At the first mention of ‘dimple’ Hermione had cast the handy Prince’s Muffliato charm so Harry felt safe in speaking freely.

"Just be glad that you got such a good tattoo placement," he carried on, ignoring her question - there was no point in repeating himself because she had heard the first time, sharp girl that she is.  "Be very fucking glad."

Harry will never be able to describe the utter and profound _relief_ at having found an elegant script of 'Hermione' in his first glance at Ron's back. Best mate or not, there were just some things that should remain sacred and _private._ And it seemed that this time Merlin and Morgana and whoever the fuck controlled the cosmos had agreed.

The day before had been when Ron had approached Hermione about the tattoos. Harry hadn’t seen but he could imagine it was rather awkward. He hadn’t yet had the chance to talk to Hermione about it; the two of them had been seen snuggling on the couch and he didn’t have the heart to interrupt.

"It's not," Hermione seemed to physically take a hold of her shock, shaking her bushy head and swallowing back a mouthful of tea. "It's not the left side, it's the right dimple."

"Oh," said Harry, and raised his eyebrows in interest. "I hadn't realised you could have them in the same place yet also not." Hermione levelled a look at him which seemed to say, 'elegant, harry'.

"Eloquent, Harry," said Hermione, which was close. "But, yes, they usually are- How much do you know about soulmates and their markings?"

Harry shrugged and made a face at her wording and Hermione, noticing, made a face back. She didn't like the word 'tattoo', for whatever reason, and he _hated_ the word 'markings'. It sounded so possessive and if there was one thing he had decided, it was that he would never be owned. By anybody.

"Not much, to be honest," he said. It was true. Of course he knew what they were, in a vague 'everyone has a soulmate' way. And he knew when they appeared, which is obvious by the hype around turning seventeen and whatnot. What he didn't know was _why -_ because seriously, it's weird isn't it, the way _magic_ or Merlin's wise old beard decides on the love of your life.

And also _how the bloody hell does it even work?_ It appears on your skin _wherever it feels like_ and - what? You suddenly fall in love? What if you already knew the person and you _hated_ them? Or they were a truly terrible person? Harry's mind flashed to Voldemort. It seemed a bit unfair to just have to accept a thing like that.

"Well," Hermione had her lecture face on, abandoning her breakfast to focus on him completely. Harry prepared himself by chugging down his coffee. "Soulmates are joined through a magical bond. It is different from any other bond as it is declared by Magic Herself. It cannot be feigned, forged nor forced."

Oh, magic was a ‘her’, then? He'd no idea really, and suddenly he felt ashamed. Nearly six years he'd been in this world and still he got surprised by the smallest of things that the littlest of wizards probably knew.

Harry sat up straight, determined. He was going to fix this neglect on his part as soon as possible. Even if he had to drag his own arse to the library, kicking and screaming. Looking at Hermione, he reconsidered. After all, she would surely take upon his new education with an enthusiasm to rival Bellatrix and the Cruciatus.

Pushing that decidedly painful thought away, he turned back to his friend's babble, "And so, even though said markings _do_ appear in the same area as their counterpart, they are just that; a _counterpart._ "

At Harry's blank look she elaborated, "It’s like a puzzle, you see? If, for example, Ron and I were to- snuggle, let's say. And we were to- to hold each other around the waist, his hand would touch my mark and my hand- his. And it's like- a perfect fit," she finished awkwardly, blushing all the while. He was glad that Ron was still asleep in the dorm. It was rather sweet, though and, he realised, that must be what they were doing on the couch yesterday.

"Oh, I think I understand," Harry said, though he was pretty sure he would only really understand _properly_ what it meant to fit together with someone like that when he. Well, found his missing piece. Merlin, how he blushed in turn. Wary though he was, he wasn’t entirely averse to finding someone.

In fact, the idea did seem sort of nice. Maybe he and his soulbound wouldn’t even be in love but they would at least never have to be alone; he had heard of platonic soulmates before. There were parts about the bond he didn’t fully understand and that he thought might turn out to be vile (if the slight territorial vibe he got from being ‘marked’ it was anything to go by), but maybe it wasn’t like that at all.

Would the bond make someone like Hermione, who was a head strong and independent woman, into a kept person? He really didn’t think so, but it was magic. Which he had not yet come to understand.

Harry grabbed a perfectly warm and buttered piece of toast and mused, "But I'm not sure I understand what their purpose is, though? I mean, why do we need them? Love seems a really silly thing for 'magic' to declare essential so as to hand pick them herself. I mean, I have to say, I’m perfectly fine as is."

"Oh, Harry," and suddenly she launched herself at his side, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders. Why was she doing that? He’d just asked a question, for Merlin’s sake. People were starting to stare and whisper, as usual.

Hesitantly, Harry started patting her head and said, "Okay." Sniffling, Hermione pulled away and - what the hell did tears have to do with this conversation?

"I keep forgetting how those disgusting relatives of yours treated you!" she burst out and Harry shushed her awkwardly. No need to fuel the gossip mongers. "And then- then you go and say something like that. So. So heart-breaking and I'm sorry, Harry. I’ve been doing some reading and I came across- oh, I'm a horrible friend, I really am!"

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck in bewildered confusion. "I don't know what you mean, Hermione," he said helplessly. "Where did you come on the _Dursleys_ from what I said?"

Fat tears welled up in her brown eyes and in his surprise Harry took out his wand, " _Evanesco._ " Yelping, Hermione touched her cheek where the trickling tear had just disappeared. Relieved that he hadn't accidentally vanished her eyeballs, he tucked his wand away.

"Now, did you have to do that?" Hermione demanded and looked fully prepared to launch into lecture mode again but it was not to be, it seemed. At that moment, Harry found he might have preferred it.

Her face softened like a melting piece of butter - alarmingly in danger of turning all liquid. "I'm just. You know I care for you, don't you? And Ronald, as well. We do love you, and so does Ginny, as a sister now even. And Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Weasley and the twins and, in fact, all of them!"

"Okay," Harry said blankly. Hermione took it as agreement, even though it was more of a shutting down of his brain in confusion.

"And Professor Lupin," she continued, even though Remus was no longer her professor and had, in fact, requested that they call him Remus. Then she started on an entire list of the Order, making sure to keep her voice lowered, and then, terrifyingly, she started babbling about bloody DA members and he just had to stop her right then.

Harry put his hand over her mouth mid-rant and then stared because, " _Zacharias Smith?_ "

"I've seen the way he looks at you." Hermione said, suddenly all teasing tone and arched eyebrows. Though Harry could somehow tell it was hollow. "You think he hates you but, really, he just has trouble coping with his feelings. I’ve also heard his soulmark starts with an ‘H’."

Her lips curled mischievously but her eyes held something else. Sadness, maybe. And Harry wasn’t sure but he figured she also looked somewhat... hopeful. Harry snorted. What? She actually wanted Smith to be his soulmate? Ridiculous.

"Hermione. You're sounding completely mental right now. What's the matter with you?"

"I just want you to be happy," she said, this time with furrowed eyebrows. Her face was doing a lot of strange things that day, Harry thought bewilderedly. "And your family, oh, they're meant to love you! What kind of horrid people are they!"

"Hermione," he said again, more firmly this time. "I never cared about the Dursleys, okay? Their- _indifference_ hasn't affected me, alright? Not ever. Well," he amended, "Maybe in the beginning but they’re not even my family, I’d say. They’re bastards and I’m happy to see the back of them." This made her face crumple and Harry groaned in exasperation.

"Look, I’m _fine_. I’m not even going back there!" Harry cried. Hermione proved unmoved by his assurance, brown doe eyes shining wetly - tears that he left this time out of pure annoyance. "OK, would you _stop_ looking at me like that? And maybe explain to me what this is all about?"

At that, Hermione nodded and took a deep breath to calm herself. This time, instead of clinging to his arm, she took his hand. Harry was at once surprised by her tender grip, then quickly went back to annoyed. She held his hand like he was fragile. Harry didn’t like it. He squeezed his fingers around hers viciously, bittering the gentle act; she winced and let go.

Harry didn’t apologise, though he did feel slightly guilty at hurting her. Only slightly, though. Hermione didn’t seem to expect him to, either, as she looked loads more apologetic than he.

"Listen, Harry," she began. A look at his stony face made her look away nervously and Harry reluctantly relaxed his frown. He didn’t want to be an arsehole, despite feeling justified in being one. "Studies have shown- No, Harry, listen. It _is_ important, I promise. OK. There have been studies having shown that, under certain circumstances, a soulmark can just… disappear. In some cases it never shows up at all, depending on when these… circumstances started. Things that are traumatic to the soul. Like committing m-murder. Or… Experiencing abuse. And neglect." Harry’s heart stopped.

Hermione was peering at his face anxiously. "Do you understand what I’m saying, Harry?" He could guess, probably very well, but he didn’t want to. He didn’t like where this was going. "Harry, with the Dursleys… You might not…" Here, she hesitated.

"Why don’t you say it, Hermione? You’re just dying to, aren’t you?" His tone was harsh and that wasn’t fair but he didn’t know what to feel. He’d known about some of those people, who didn’t have that other piece. He’d never met one personally, but he’d heard many tragic stories - the way they were almost never whole. He had always felt sorry for them.

"They never loved you," Hermione whispered, so faintly as though she hardly wished him to hear. But he did. "They treated you like rubbish, neglected you worse than a house elf. Punished you for something that you couldn’t control. The bars on your window. And the catflap for scraps of food. Fred and George told us- they saw your c-cupboard. We know they k-kept you there. "

Harry swallowed at the lump in his throat. It wasn’t anything new that he was hearing; he had lived through it, after all, had accepted it. But hearing Hermione saying it so callously, no, bluntly, hurt. And he knew, he _knew_ , she was doing it for him (the cracking of her at the end showed that). He didn’t want _pity_ and she understood that now. What he hadn’t expected was the inexplicable wave of shame… He didn't know that she had known.

The deeds of his ‘family’ had never been spoken aloud, not even by him, bar passing comments. It was staggering what the words did to him. And its implications.

He may not have come to terms with having a soulmate in the future but he just felt it was yet another thing being so ferociously ripped from him. The hypothetical person that was his soulmate was now just another person to add to his list of people he could have loved, and loved him, if they had not died. Because that’s how it felt; a tiny part of his soul, its missing piece that was meant to find him, being murdered right in front of him. Just like his dad, his mum... Sirius. 

The loss ached.

This time when Hermione placed her hand on his, he let her. The warmth of their skin touching was a tiny comfort to the cold spreading through him. And when she said quietly, "It’s only a possibility, Harry. And you’ve always been lucky, you know?" he pretended like that was a comfort, too.

* * *

_Early afternoon_  

The air was positively icy when Harry took to the air, robes billowing behind him in a way he imagined was rather dramatic. He wasn't wearing Quidditch robes so the wind rushing past him left goosebumps on his arms and legs, even through his extra strong warming charm. He didn't care though, the pinpricks of flesh, slightly painful, did a nice job of distracting him.

Slowing down from the initially intense take off, Harry made his way around the pitch in a couple of warm up laps. It was a brilliant day for flying; while not necessarily sunny, the sky was clear and for once not a single rain cloud in sight.

His pace slowly dwindled away into lazy twirls and suddenly quick turns which nearly threw his glasses across the pitch. Smiling ruefully, Harry pushed his fringe out his eyes and placed a non-permanent sticking charm on his spectacles. A slightly sticky sensation enveloped the charmed place on his skin before trickling away.

Confident that he would not be losing any worldly possessions, Harry shot through the sky, pulling no stops and simply letting the broom take control. His Firebolt, faithful for now nearly three years, was as smooth and as precise as his very first try. The thought caused a pang in his chest that he fought ferociously. He was here to forget, not think about- he twisted sharply, narrowly missing a goal post and muscles clenching as he drew his body tightly to the broom in a corkscrew.

Harry sped downwards, the air tugging at his skin and making his eyes burn. Despite the tears leaking, he never took his eyes off a spot on the ground; imagining for just a single heart-stopping moment what it would feel like to just collide, to not brake in time, to fall- once again, he turned, barely missing the earth by inches.

Harsh breaths fell from his mouth as his chest heaved and heart hammered. Flying had always been a way for him to let go and there had been no limits to the stunts he could pull. From the moment he had first soared into the sky he had known freedom, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, and he had known that no feeling could compare to that very first rush of riding a broom.

Until now, that is. Harry was in no way suicidal and there were way too many near-death experiences for him to ever crave death. But in that one moment, where he had felt a tiny _something_ \- he wasn't sure what but he knew it felt incredible.

For someone who loved flying as much as Harry did, he had to admit he had never done anything like that before. Sure, he was on the house team and often pulled daring stunts - regardless of whether he had wanted to or not - but never before had he just. _Flown_.

In previous years there was always just something going on that prevented him from taking his broom out for fun. The school year might have only just begun two months ago but it was already decidedly not fun. Which made flying his solace.

With that thought, Harry zipped away again, wind nipping at his heels like joyful companions. Though he didn’t yell out in joy, his lips curved slightly. The heavy weight on his heart seemed to lift imperceptibly.

* * *

_Sunday,_ _1 stDecember 1996 _

_Midday_

The rain had hardly abated and Harry was up the stairs to fetch his Firebolt and back down in the common room just as quickly. Making his way toward to portrait hole, he only paused when someone called out to him. "Harry!" He turned, it was Ron. 

Harry walked reluctantly over to the couches by the fireplace. Ron shifted over from where he'd been leaning against Hermione, who looked up from her book and smiled cautiously. 

"Alright?" Harry ventured awkwardly, rolling on the balls of his feet in impatience. He was eager to get outside before it turned too dark to get much flying done. 

"Where're you going with that?" Ron indicated his head to the broom in Harry's hand. "It's bloody freezing out there." 

"I know that," Harry rolled his eyes. Honestly, who cared about the weather? He just wanted to fly. "I just want to catch a bit of the light while it's no longer pouring."

Ron made a face of uncertainty. “Well…” he started and looked at Hermione, who raised her eyebrows at him. He shrugged then turned back to Harry, seeming to make up his mind. “I’ll go with you, then. That one seventh year donated his broom to the school. Said he didn't need it cos he’s so busy. It’s not a Firebolt but-”

“Ron,” Harry interrupted, holding up a hand to stop him. “I meant I wanted to fly _alone_.”

“But, wait,” said Ron. He stood up and started walking to the dorms. “Let me just grab my coat and we can-” 

“NO,” shouted Harry. The common room went silent, everyone now wholly focused on him. Harry blushed faintly under the attention; he hadn't meant to be so loud in his refusal. It was just, “I need to be alone for this.” 

Ron sent a dark look around the room and those staring turned away reluctantly. He then frowned at Harry, without real heat this time - he only seemed confused. On her place on the couch Hermione bit her lip anxiously. 

“OK?” Harry added belatedly. Ron opened his mouth then visibly stopped himself from saying something, which was unusual but Harry wasnt about to prolong his stay by voicing this observation. 

At Ron’s nod, Harry stepped out of the portrait hole. Not that he needed Ron’s, or anyone’s, permission to go _flying_ for Merlin’s sake, Harry thought as he walked through the corridors.

The pitch was once again empty when he got there; though not usual for a Sunday specifically, it was not surprising because of the shitty weather.  Besides, as it was nearly winter break, not many chose to spend much time outside unless it had snowed. 

Harry was glad for it, though. He had refused Ron's company because he didn't particularly want anyone to witness his death defying stunts - while alright in matches, his best mate might be a bit concerned for his near vicious abandon. 

While it could be explained as 'practice' and, even on a good day, Harry was known for reckless actions, he didn't want any scrutiny. Especially after his talk with with Hermione; and Harry was under no illusion that she hadn't shared it with Ron. 

He didn't know how much longer he could hold up his emotions and he was sure that this flight would be the one to crumble him.

Harry just needed to let go. 

Every Sunday for the past month Harry had taken the opportunity to go out to the pitch and unwind. Though, to be honest, it was more of a distraction from unwanted thoughts that always seemed to intrude upon him. 

His chest constantly ached as a reminder of what he had 'lost'. It was mildly annoying as Harry tried to constantly remind himself that he was being a fool. He hadn't lost anything, yet - and even if he had no soulmate it wasn't the end of the world. 

Looking out at the grey sky, very rapidly bleeding into darkness, Harry tried suppressing the thought that always followed, to no avail. 

_He might not have long to mourn his soulbound if he was going to die soon, anyway._

Shaking his head, Harry hurtled through the sky in a burst of savage speed. The memory of the prophecy following him like a malicious ghost that he refused to let catch him, feeling the ghostly hands of despair nearly grabbing hold of him entirely.  

Harry gave a silent snarl, his broom pushing and pulling at the air in a battle of death-defying rolls and angry streaks through hoops. He felt like lightning, as he flashed to the ground in a zigzag motion, though never letting the ground feel his charged touch. 

When his heart near burst out of his chest in its frantic pounding, Harry slowed to a halt. His throat burned, scraped raw from his laboured breaths. A sob welled up from him and Harry could barely stop it from erupting. 

With a furious roar he landed into one of the nearby stands, the crash of his fall drawing the trapped sob in a pained cry. Harry folded on himself and let his heartbreak sound into the air.  

Harry couldn't be strong right then, the way he had tried so very hard to be every single day. Everything had felt like it was building up, slowly consuming him in a flood his fragile walls strained to withhold. 

Tears burned his face like acid corroding him from the inside out and he gasped for air. Harry's body shook from the force of his horrible, gut wrenching crying. 

He felt pathetic blubbering like a bloody baby all by himself and yet he couldn't stop. Just - _why did it always have to be him?_

It wasn't _fair_. He was a good person and despite his horrible childhood he had always - _always_ \- tried to do the right thing. Tried to make his parents proud...

"It's not fair," Harry whispered uselessly - for what did the empty air care for his heartache? Only it seemed he was not as alone as he had thought; a hand had settled on his shoulder silently, and squeezed gently.  

Harry gave a start, breath stuttering in his chest with shock,"What-" he turned to look, and promptly gaped at the person sat beside him. 

Blaise Zabini gave a solemn nod, serious brown eyes roving over his face in curiosity.  Harry's face hardened and he pulled his arm out of Zabini's grip, turning bodily away. 

"Come to gloat, have you?" He asked, voice sounding detached in his effort to remain calm. "The great 'saviour' having a grand old cry out in the cold. Weeping over his dead parents, no doubt." 

Zabini said nothing and Harry clenched his jaw in embarrassment. His outburst hadn't provoked any sort of response and instead he just felt stupid and childish for it. 

The silence stretched on, long beyond the point of awkward and then came the calm voice, "Are you, then?" 

Harry frowned. Zabini's tone was not mocking or malicious and sounded, rather, conversational. 

"Am I what?" Harry asked in return and turned back to face him. Those brown eyes held an intensity that Harry had no idea what to make of. 

Harry thought Zabini might have asked if he was, in fact, the _Chosen One_. To which he might have answered 'yes' just to see a reaction. Instead, it was the other remark that was focused on, "Weeping over your dead parents?" 

Swallowing dryly, Harry looked into the sky bitterly. He could feel the drying tracks in his face trickle mockingly. 

He wasn't crying over his parents - except... Harry breathed out harshly as he realised he sort of _was_. Only, not entirely; it was just one of the drops having him spill over.

Not that it was Zabini's business. "No," he said, and, suddenly not having any energy to tell the other boy to piss off, he leaned back against his seat. 

In the corner of his eye, Harry could see Zabini still staring at him. Any other time he might have wanted to snarl at him, a vicious "fuck, mate, _what?_ " maybe sitting on his tongue, ready to shock Zabini into any other emotion besides mild curiosity. 

Instead he just sat there, as though he were genuinely alone, feeling hollow and numb. And yet, somehow he also felt like he had not sat there mere minutes before, sobbing his heart out. He still felt like he needed to be broken some more; still felt too whole for the sheer amount of emotions he let go warranted. 

Which was ridiculous, Harry realised. Here he was, all wretched in the cold, next to Zabini of all people. Wishing to break down more in front of someone who should, all things considered, have him be grateful for numbness over vulnerability. 

Even still, he was an emotional person and always had been. And any lack of emotions had him feeling out of sorts. 

"What do you want?" Harry asked suddenly, sitting up so quickly he nearly toppled over. A hand caught him by the cuff of his sleeve, carefully making sure not to touch the skin of his wrist. 

Harry looked at Zabini's hand blankly, absently noticing how tan it was, bronzed compared to his own sickly pale. The hand withdrew, Harry's gaze following it before flicking it up to Zabini's face. 

"That's rather unsettling, you know," said Zabini casually, ignoring his question entirely. 

 Harry snorted in disgust. He had no idea what the other boy meant but what he found unsettling was the intensity of those dark brown eyes - they seemed to be trying to take in each of his features individually as though they were fascinating puzzle pieces that just did not fit. 

"Right," said Harry. He tried matching Zabini's gaze when it reached his eyes but as soon they caught Harry found the pierce entirely too uncomfortable.  And so he focused instead on the peculiar arch of his eyebrows - it was pointed in a near perfect triangular shape. 

"I can see you do not know what I mean," Zabini remarked and the brow lifted, its shape narrowed. He sighed when Harry remained silent, finally seeming to lose his air of nonchalance. "That, Potter. Exactly that is what unsettles me." 

"What," said Harry, leaving no inflection for the word that should have been a question.  

"Your lack of..." Zabini looked away as though for the word in the sky. He would find nothing there but dark grey, Harry figured. He settled on one anyway, "Fire."

The word was clearly unsatisfactory though; Zabini frowned, his eyebrows almost rounding out its sharpness.  

"I'm not allowed to be sad, then," Harry concluded dully. He didn't care what Zabini thought he knew. He didn't know Harry and whatever illusions of his character he seemed to picture were probably nothing like him.  

"No," said Zabini. It didn't sound like he was affirming Harry's words but instead like he was flinging them away as insignificant.  

At that, Harry locked his eyes onto Zabini's, fighting against the feeling of needing to look away. This time, Zabini seemed to indulge him as his ever roving gaze stayed just as firmly. 

They were a more interesting shade of brown than many others Harry had seen. Subtle flecks of amber swirled like tiny nuggets of precious gold through deepest chocolate. They were pretty, Harry reckoned, if not entirely more unsettling in their strangeness. 

"No," Harry echoed lightly, just to see what Zabini made of that. 

"That would be absurd," said Zabini, just as lightly. "Of course I am not telling you what you're allowed to feel. Would I?"

"I don't know," said Harry. "You don't know me. And I can't say I know you, really."

"Yes," Zabini's tone changed to a weighted one. The single word was said so gravely that Harry nearly laughed out in incredulous amusement. As it was, his mouth merely twitched into a tiny lopsided smile.

Zabini spied the miniscule movement of his lips and, as though in exchange, mirrored it. It was such a ridiculous and silly thing that Harry would never have thought the stoic Slytherin would do. Harry wondered whether it was a genuine reciprocation; he wondered whether he would have liked it to be.

Then, the stare broke and it wasn't due to Harry looking away. "You..." Zabini started, only to shake his head and instead begin anew. "You're good. You look natural out there." He indicated his head first to his broom then to the sky.

"So?" Harry asked, smile vanishing. Was Zabini mocking him? "You've seen me at matches before, haven't you?"

Zabini shook his head and raised a sharp eyebrow. "Never like _that_ ," he said, putting a strange emphasis on the last word.

"'Like that'?" Harry asked, trying to blank his face from giving him away. He wondered just how idiotically reckless he had looked to the composed Slytherin. "How, exactly?"

Zabini glanced at him, for some reason avoiding eye contact as though he hadn't been blatantly staring at him before.

"Beautiful, I suppose."

At that, Harry inhaled so sharply he began spluttering in a way that was not decidedly _not_ beautiful. " _Excuse_ me?"

"Has nobody ever told you that before?" Zabini asked. Doubt lacing his tone but the gold in his irises glittered in laughter "Granger? Weasleys one through seven? One of your _fangirls_ , perhaps?"

Harry took a deep breath, this time not letting it lodge in his throat, and desperately willed the heat in his cheeks to remain internal.

"You just said yourself that I had never flown like that before." He pointed out, deciding to ignore the derisive tone he had used when naming his friends; and the fact that he did not have fangirls, thanks. "When, then, would anyone know to say something like that?"

Zabini turned to him and surprise seemed to flicker in his strange eyes before being masked as curiosity once more.

"You mean to say that no one has said anything like that to you before?" He jabbed his head at the sky again and added, "Or seen you."

Something in the way Zabini said that had Harry bristling. "What? Because I'm such a show off, is that it?"

"I didn't say that," Zabini kept his voice cool and Harry gritted his teeth at it.

"Whatever," Harry muttered, not wanting to have to dance around words just to get somewhere with the conversation. Hating how out of sorts he was. Then, in a more spiteful tone, "Besides people don't exactly go around calling their mates beautiful, do they?"

He narrowed his eyes and said pointedly, "Much less strangers."

Zabini adopted a politely quizzical look: a tiny puckered frown paired with upturned lips. "And here I thought all Gryffindors were such bleeding hearts, always trying to outdo each other with compliments."

Harry snorted. Were it Malfoy who had said it, Harry might have taken it for a disdainful insult. Once again, Zabini surprised him; this time by teasing him, it seemed. And in a decidedly non-rude way, playful he might have thought.

"We're not Hufflepuffs, Zabini. Words like 'beautiful' aren't said without romance being involved," he said and, even then, he had his doubts. "I think, anyway. In any case, I'd have thought Slytherins don't even know that word, at all."

"Potter, if you ever saw the Slytherin common room or any other Pureblood's home you would know differently.We do appreciate our beauty." Well, Harry hadn't seen a Pureblood's home besides the Weasleys - decidedly not thinking of headquarters - and, while he loved the chaos of it that probably hadn't been what Zabini had in mind. Plus, from what he had seen of the Slytherin common room he wasn't much impressed. Cold and dark and filled with snakes as it had been.

In any case, Harry had to wonder what that said about his flying that Zabini would call it beautiful. He was certain he had to have looked deranged at some point, his simmering anger and despair shouldn't have been missing much from his emotive face. Not to mention just what Zabini might have thought of his breakdown after.

Zabini was back to scrutinising his face again, though if possible he seemed even more as if Harry confused him greatly. He said, in a smooth tone barely covering something beneath, "One would think you would have more confidence in yourself."

Before Harry could respond to that baffling comment Zabini was standing, gracefully as ever as he walked away.

Harry blinked for a second and then he found his voice. "Oh, I have confidence. I am the Chosen One, if you'll remember," Harry called after him. While he had tried to inject his voice with mocking venom all that remained was aching bitterness and a strange confused hurt.

Zabini did not pause, long strides carrying his solid and straight back further away through the dark. Though quiet, Harry had little trouble hearing his amused response.

"I remember."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, finishing this first chapter was hard. i just wanted to get it done. as a result it seems quite messy... is that just me? let me know what you think, please. :)  
> also btw, i know ron's birthday is 1st March. for this fic it has been changed simply for timeline purposes.


	2. Ignite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a note: i changed the dates of scenes in the last chapter. oh and also the fact that winterbreak had started, which it didn't until this chapter. so, if you're taking note of those things, there's a heads up. (in any case you probably should pay attention to those as there are timeskips between them).  
> unbeta-ed, apologies for errors.

_Sunday, 15 th December 1996_

_Morning_

Harry placed his broom across his knees and lay as comfortably as he could with the higher bench digging into his back. Harry thought he might bring up the crowd seating to Dumbledore - with magic they should not be as uncomfortable as they were.

Harry sighed, he really should be taking his books out. The sooner he could finish off some assignments the sooner he could unburden into the skies.

The common room hadn't been completely full and he could normally work just fine regardless of how noisy - considering just what a boisterous lot Gryffindors were, that was most of time.

That wasn't why he had felt uncomfortable doing homework there. It was Ron and Hermione. Or more specifically, Hermione - not that the two of them together weren't already enough to turn his mouth to acid when they touched hand to tattoo.

It was just that, Harry had made himself promise not to think of that at any other time besides on his Firebolt. He knew that bottling up emotions or whatever was unhealthy but so was stewing in them. And he wasn't about to go around raging the way he had done the year before - that was better left done alone, with his reckless and gravity defying stunts.

Only, Hermione wasn't about to let him; forget or ignore his problem, in this case. She knew nothing about his escapes on Sundays - he had no doubt she suspected something but in any case, she deemed it the wrong way of dealing. She wanted him to confront it, to talk to her, to do research, anything to convince her that he hadn't died inside or something.

And he tried. Tried to appease her. Had sat in the library with her which only seemed to drive more frustration within him. They hadn't found a single 'fix' or 'cure' for a cut off soulmate. There was simply no mending a torn soul.

Where Harry had been ready to go 'OK that's it, we tried', Hermione only seemed more convinced that the solution had to be out there. Harry had let her, only he was done and she could come find him if she found something. He just couldn't go through book after book and lose himself in helplessness.

He had thought that had been it, as Hermione had let him storm away after the thoudandth book, but it wasn't. She could tell he wasn't as fine as he pretended to be and after countless see through smiles she had lost patience.

"Just talk to us, Harry!" she had cried, tears of frustration and worry clouding her eyes. Harry wanted to hate her for that, when he should be the one to cry, but he couldn't.

He couldn't hate her for feeling worry over him and guilt over exposing him to the situation; not when he already nearly hated her for other, unfair things, not when he should be the one to cry and wasn't. After the first breakdown he hadn't allowed himself another, not in any tearful sense.

So he had spoken to her, as well. Had tried convincing her that he was alright, but he had never been a good actor and she had known that. Regardless, he hadn't been about to reveal his darkest thoughts to her. He couldn't and, more importantly, he refused to. Yes, he wasn't 'OK', but he wanted to be - and wasn't that enough?

Shaking his head, Harry focused on getting his notes, parchment, an ink well, and a quill out. His lap wasn't the best surface to write on, especially with how messy loose ink was, so he had to press on a book as well. Placing his broomstick aside, he set to working on an entirely boring essay. 

A few minutes later Harry was grumbling heatedly at having to repeatedly smooth out the curling corners of the parchment he was writing on. He usually worked on flat surfaces where he could place a heavy book on either the top or bottom piece to weigh it down; and it seemed nigh on impossible to do so without one or two things falling off his lap. 

"Ever heard of a sticking charm, Potter?" came a voice from beside him and Harry just about jumped into the air, ink spilling everywhere. 

"Zabini," Harry hissed, looking upon the mess of black all over his partially finished homework. He glared up the darkly amused boy, "Must you do that? Honestly, can't you approach someone like a normal person?" 

"Why should I?" asked Zabini, making himself comfortable beside him. Harry frowned, wondering how he could be so at ease on such a hard surface. "When your reactions are so amusing?" 

"Thanks," Harry snapped and tried mopping up the mess uselessly. It had gotten all over his clothes now and his inkwell was empty and parchment ruined; he'd have to start all over again. "You're lucky I haven't completed this yet." 

Zabini sighed, plenty of exasperation being heard in the tiny exhalation. "You are a wizard, aren't you, Potter?" 

Harry stopped patting his robes and blushed hotly, cheeks feeling as though they were burning outward. Then he muttered sullenly, "Evanesco." He looked away for a bit, feeling as though he were in first year again. 

The vanishing spell worked a bit splotchily in some places on his parchment due to him being so flustered. He wondered how he could have forgotten the very spell he used quite frequently; surely Zabini's presence shouldn't affect him that much? 

Then again, Zabini just came popping up everywhere it was a wonder Harry hadn't hexed him in shock. 

"You haven't been flying yet, I see," Zabini commented idly and, when Harry made eye contact, smirked. "Been waiting for me, have you?" 

Harry, who had began to feel the heat on his face lessen gasped as it suddenly flared up again; the cold interacting with his face in a burning sensation. "Shut up," Harry muttered, beginning to write furiously onto his parchment. As an afterthought he placed sticking charms so that the parchment lay flat on his book. 

"And I haven't been," Harry added, glaring at Zabini for embarrassing him so. "I've forgotten you exist, actually." 

"Hmm, so you say," Zabini said, an odd smugness lacing his tone. Harry paused in his writing. "I wonder who it was you've been glancing at in class and in the hall... Malfoy, was it?" 

It had been Malfoy, actually. Or had been - most of the time, when Harry just had to watch Malfoy for any suspicious behaviour. Over the past two weeks, however, Harry had found himself bypassing the blond to observe Zabini instead. 

Harry couldn't say why he had been so interested; he had never been before and had barely even taken note of him until Zabini had snuck up on him while he had been crying. 

Harry glanced at Zabini out of the corner of his eye, who had picked up a stray quill of Harry's and had started to change its colour with great ease. Watching with idle fascination, Harry wondered for the umpteenth time why Zabini hadn't mocked him after seeing him at his weakest; sold his story to the Prophet, perhaps, and laughed at him with his friends the way any other Slytherin probably would have.

Then again, Harry could only recall Zabini having one 'friend' - if he could be called that. Zabini and Nott were often seen sat together in meals and in class and yet the two of them barely spoke a word to each other. Perhaps they did, though, Harry could only observe so much. 

In any case, it didn't look as if Zabini and Malfoy were anything other than passing acquaintances. And, on more than one occasion, Harry had seen Malfoy giving Zabini poisonous looks which Zabini usually ignored. 

Zabini was changing the quill between two different greens, back and forth, seeming unable to choose one. Harry stared a moment then shot his hand out to still Zabini's wand and the quill remained in a beautiful shade of green. Harry was loathe to call it the colour of his eyes.

"Merlin, what are you doing?" Harry asked and, realising he still held Zabini's hand, let go. It was startling how only afterwards he realised how warm his skin was - some would perhaps call it too warm but Harry had only found the burn of it comforting. Which was a thought Harry ignored in bewilderment.  

"Practicing my colour changing charms, Potter," Zabini said slowly. Looking from Harry to the quill to his wand, probably wondering what Harry's problem was. "What does it look like from where you are sitting?" 

"Nothing," Harry muttered, feeling flushed once again. "I mean, it looks the same. I just thought- nevermind."

"That was the first time I've managed to change its colour so vividly," Zabini said, sounding inordinately pleased with himself as he scrutinised every angle of the quill. He turned his head to pin Harry with an intense gaze, the gold in his eyes rather bright. "McGonagall said that the colour you envision should be very clear if you wish for a result such as this. Before, I could only manage rather blurry and unattractive shades." 

"Good job," said Harry, rather impressed despite a bit of unease. "May I?" he asked, reaching for the quill. Zabini nodded, handing it over for him to see. 

"Keep it," said Zabini, and he pushed Harry's hand away when he attempted protesting. "It's yours anyway. I've only changed it." 

"But don't you want it for reference, later?" asked Harry. Whenever he was successful with any type of visual spell he usually liked to keep the first success and the rest of the failures to compare when he had went wrong. 

"That's quite alright," Zabini smirked in a way that had Harry edging away a little. "I've figured out my problem, in any case."

"Alright," said Harry agreeably. 

"You're not going to ask what it was?" asked Zabini, clearly curious at Harry's response - probably having expected to be interrogated as a Gryffindor would.  

"No," said Harry. Eager to be done with the conversation, he leaped to his feet and packed away his stuff; the emerald quill tucked neatly between the pages of his Defense book. 

"I'm off flying, if you don't mind," he said, holding onto his broom tightly while he left his bag on the bench. Zabini shook his head and stood up, as well.  

For a moment they stood, neither one moving nor speaking. Then Harry asked reluctantly, "Want to join?" 

A brief smile touched Zabini's mouth for a second, but he shook his head again. "I've got someplace to be," he said, sounding entirely too mysterious than the situation warranted. It must have been a Slytherin thing, Harry reckoned.

Or perhaps just another Zabini thing, Harry thought, watching as he walked away without another single word.

* * *

_Friday, 20 th December 1996_

_Evening, Slughorn's Christmas Party_

"Come to brood here alone, then, Potter?" 

Harry straightened up from where he had been staring moodily into his drink and trying to blend into the decorations on the wall. He had thought he had been marginally successful with his bottle green robes looking almost like a Christmas tree. 

From the way Zabini was looking at him pointedly Harry had to admit that he had been fooling himself. He was not even surprised at who it had been to sneak up on him at that point. Either way, Harry raised an eyebrow back as if he hadn't been caught imitating something inanimate.  

"No," Harry said, remembering that Zabini had asked him a question. "I do have a date, here somewhere..." he trailed off along with a sweeping once over around the room. 

"Ah, yes, that Loon-" Harry narrowed eyes, just waiting for Zabini to complete that sentence so that he could- "-na girl," Zabini finished, nonchalantly taking a sip from his drink. 

"Oh," Harry said, only realising belatedly that it had been out loud. "I mean, yes. I'm surprised that you, well, know that." 

Zabini smirked and turned sideways from where he had his back to the rest of the room and made a sweeping gesture with his arm. Harry looked and immediately flushed at the amount of eyes gazing back at him. 

That wasn't to say every guest milling around and chatting had suddenly turned to stare at him; more like nearly everyone who wasn't a Hogwarts student, and quite a few who were, already seemed to be stealing glances at him every so now and then. 

"Everyone knows who you asked to the party, Potter," said Zabini and the dancing baubles on the wall next to them were aptly captured in his colourful eyes. 

"Who'd you take then?" Harry shot back, partly to distract himself from the heat of eyes and partly because of genuine curiosity. 

Harry hadn't seen Zabini with a pretty girl or handsome boy hanging off his arm and here he was as well, talking to Harry as though they were friends. 

"No one," Zabini shrugged, managing to make the move less of a clunky one and more smooth. A waiter walked passed with a tray of little pies and Zabini called him a bit closer. He took one and tilted his head to Harry, "Would you like one, Potter?" 

"Uh, sure," Harry said unsurely and then quickly held out a hand for Zabini to place it in. "Cheers."

Zabini nodded and the waiter scuttled away. Harry stared at the pie for a few seconds before taking a bite; some crumbs fell away from his mouth and Harry froze at the sound of a soft laugh. 

He jerked his head up and the laughter trickled away. Harry barely caught sight of a handsome grin before it vanished like a doused flame. 

Harry frowned and, though feeling slightly envious at the ease of it, he had to know, "Why do you do that?" 

Zabini took a delicate bite from his pie, not a single flaky piece clinging to his mouth nor falling to the floor. Harry glared at the pie in Zabini's hand before looking back at his calmly chewing face, awaiting a response.  

"Do what, Potter?" Zabini asked as soon as he finished swallowing. Harry couldn't help but compare him to Ron, who would have answered regardless of having his face stuffed. 

"That- that thing. Where you-" Harry reached out a hand before pulling it back and making an aborted gesture at his own face. He had been about to touch Zabini's face which would have been mortifying, not that he was feeling any less embarrassed but at least he could pretend otherwise. 

Harry breathed in and said, "That mask you pull up." 

"Whoever said it was a mask?" Zabini said, one sharp brow and then the other shot up. He must be really surprised, Harry thought grumpily, to use _both_ eyebrows at once."Perhaps it's just my face." 

"Don't pull that with me," Harry said and rolled his eyes. Then he looked away for a second and bit his lip, "When you show emotion it... It's real and the blankness is fake, I know it." 

"Not everyone can be as transparent as you are, Potter," Zabini responded calmly, his gaze moving in their favourite dance - all along Harry's face. 

"I'm not transparent," Harry denied hotly, clenching his fist. He then looked down at his hand in disgusted dismay; it was now sticky, covered in his squashed up pie. 

Zabini raised a brow and Harry could almost hear the same mocking 'you're a wizard, potter'. He then took out his wand, a gorgeous honey nut colour, completely straight but for a ridged handle which was made of a darker wood. Harry eyed it warily, not having forgotten the iridescent quill he had stashed in his trunk. 

Zabini merely whispered a mild cleaning charm and the mess was cleared away, leaving behind a faint scent of lemons. The sensation along his hand was infintely more soothing than a Scourgify would have been and Harry had to shake it out a bit to rid it of the pleasant tingling. 

Before Harry could murmur a 'thank you', Zabini had continued on, "Is that so? How is it, then, that anyone can tell your emotional state from the expressions on your face?"

"Really, now? What am I thinking now, then?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows in challenge. 

"I said emotional state, Potter, not your entire thought process," Zabini pointed out in that cool way that infuriated Harry most of the time. 

A short man approached them but quickly scurried away upon a ferocious glare from Harry. He was in no mood for more meaningless conversations whereby people could later brag about having chatted to the Boy Who Lived. 

"Then why do you always look at me the way you do?" he demanded when he had turned back to Zabini. 

"In what way do you suppose I look at you?" Zabini inquired with an air of feigning ignorance.

"Like you can't figure me out," Harry said and he couldn't help the burning blush that came from the intensity of Zabini's eyes; he had a way of making Harry feel stripped down to his skeleton. 

For a moment there was silence; between the two, at least, around them the party raged in as much as a Christmas party with old and successful people could. 

"Just because you wear your emotions outwardly for anyone to see that does not mean the reasons behind them are as visible," Zabini said finally. "Or as decipherible."

Harry sighed. Zabini would never make any sense to him; he was all playful teasing one moment and serious inscrutibility the next. But from what he said, Harry was equally as difficult to understand to Zabini.

Feeling somewhat bolstered by that, he asked, "Why do it, then? What's point?" 

Harry did feel a bit of a hypocrite by asking that; because as much as he was unsuccessful at it, he couldn't help but try hiding a bit, too. That wasn't about him, though, it was about Zabini and, as much as he had no idea why, he wanted to know him. He wanted to know what Zabini could want to hide by masking it away.  

Zabini eyed Harry for a moment, taking his time in watching Harry's face. Then, in typical Zabini fashion, turned away and said over his shoulder, "Protection." 

Harry had perculiar feeling that Zabini walking away, in this case, had been his fault.

* * *

  _Wednesday, 25th December 1996_

_Morning_

Weak, pale light filtered through a gap in the curtains. Harry grumbled as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes - for though the sun wasn't bright enough to be piercing it had still been enough to prod him awake. 

Harry wasn't usually one for sleeping late but still, a lie in while wrapped in the warmth of his blankets sounded appealing right then. Not that he could have done, he admitted grumpily.  

"Happy Christmas, Harry!" Ron had awoken as well and seemed eager to join Harry in present opening. And he came tumbling onto Harry's bed, arms filled with his own bright bundles. 

"Happy Christmas, Ron," Harry responded tiredly but equally as happy. He eyed his own pile at the foot of his bed and had to kick Ron a bit before he squashed some of them from where he had landed. 

Just a few days ago the two of them, along with Hermione and Ginny, had arrived at the Burrow to enjoy the rest of their holiday. 

Spending time with his favourite family, away from Hogwarts, had seemed to lift the dark cloud that had draped itself almost protectively around him. Although he had to admit to being a bit anxious about not having a chance to fly the coming Sunday, the warmth of his friends and home cooked meals was enjoyable. 

Harry and Ron tore into the paper and were soon sporting huge grins and trading jokes; Harry near choking on laughter at the look of Ron’s face upon opening the present from Hermione.  

The indignant cry of, "You'd think with us being soulmates she'd leave off with the books!" was entirely too funny to pretend to be offended on his best mate's behalf. 

Even the discovery of the quite disgusting 'gift' of maggots from Kreacher did nothing to dampen the promising mood. Ron did manage to get a good laugh in revenge, though. 

* * *

  _Lunch_

The different coloured sweaters hand-knitted by Mrs Weasley brightened the room when they all sat down to eat. Harry's smile, however, dimmed somewhat upon noticing Fleur without one. 

Mrs Weasley, it seemed, was still frosty in regards to her future daughter in law. Harry was quite taken aback by the purposely mean gesture - after all, Fleur was Bill's soulbound so any disapproval on their match was completely useless, wasn't it? 

Bill, it looked like, wasn't entirely happy with his mum either, if the disappointed look he leveled on her was any indication. He only relaxed somewhat when Fleur kissed his cheek as though to tell him she didn't care what Mrs Weasley thought. 

Harry might have believed that if were not for the stiffness in her posture and tightness around her eyes. The sight sent a pang through his chest - he had thought that Mrs Weasley, of all people, would have been more welcoming to her son's intended. 

In comparison, the fond look she sent to Ron and Hermione sat beside each other was a double jab, along with the fact that the two of them wore matching maroon sweaters. Harry found that very unfair but except for a frown he refrained from reacting; it wasn't his place, in any case. 

He was brought slightly out of his thoughts when Ginny leaned towards him. Thinking she had a joke to share with him, he angled his head in her direction. He was mildly surprised when she instead reached to his hair, pulling a few strands through her fingers. 

"You've got a maggot in your hair," she said and withdrew her hand to show him, just as he was about to pull away in discomfort. 

"Oh," he said. He smiled apologetically, both for unintentionally bringing something gross to the table and for thinking she had perhaps been flirting with him. Not that he had much experience recognising when that happened; which was why he must have been mistaken. 

Fleur made a comment on that but Harry didn't let it affect him - she was probably feeling uncomfortable herself and Harry noticed that she tended to be meaner in those cases. 

Other than a few pointed comments about Tonks, aimed to make Fleur more uncomfortable though she seemed unaffected and only sniffed contemptuously, lunch was a light affair. Harry did ask Remus about patronuses changing at one point - Snape had, after all, mentioned Tonks' having changed; how he knew that Harry was uncertain about. 

Hearing that great emotional shock would be a cause for a patronus change had Harry sympathising with Tonks - Sirius had been her cousin and he had to remember that he wasn't the only one affected by his death. It brought a sour taste to his mouth, one which he drowned in the flavour of treacle tart instead. 

When the minister arrived later on, a bitter and stony faced Percy in tow, Harry could only sigh. He could just tell the day was about to go south. 

* * *

  _Late Afternoon_

"So, Harry," Ron began both eagerly and in slight concern. "What was that about?" 

Harry flopped back onto the rug in front of the fireplace and promptly winced. While the material had looked fluffy at first glance, landing as roughly as he had was sure to leave a bruise on his arse. 

"Yeah," added Ginny from her spot on a couch where she was doing homework. "What did the minister say?" 

Harry looked up at his friends and, seeing their curious faces, he grit his teeth in remembrance. "He wanted my _assurance_ that I would be standing alongside the Ministry," he said and immediately their expressions changed. 

Hermione looked indignant and a moment away from ranting, Ginny searched Harry's eyes, while Ron frowned - not in confusion but more contemplation.  

"Exactly!" Harry said, feeding off his friend's reactions. "Who does he think he is? As if I want anything to do with them - not after last year and not after they chucked Stan Shunpike into Azkaban." 

Ron was the first to respond verbally, saying: "What does it mean, though, 'working alongside the Ministry'? Like after NEWTs? As an Auror or..." 

"No, Ron," said Hermione, sending an exasperated yet proud look at him - the latter no doubt for coming up with a semi-reasonable explanation. Harry rolled his eyes, feeling a bit slighted on behalf of his friend; Ron could get a little more credit for his ideas! "What he means is that Scrimgeour wants Harry to endorse the Ministry. To give them his support publically. Right, Harry?" 

"Right," Harry agreed. "Scrimgeour basically said I should be their _mascot_ ," he sneered the word in disgust. "Like I owe them anything. Honestly, he's a bloody idiot for ever thinking I would agree. Not to mention that bloody cow, Umbridge." 

A chorus of groans went around the room at the mention of the horror of a woman that had reigned Hogwarts the previous year.

"I know," said Harry, sparing a look at the whitened letters on the back of his hand. "Apparently she's still at the Ministry. Told the minister of my ambitions of being an Auror. Fat chance of that anymore."

Hermione gasped and Harry looked at her. With a confused frown drawing at her eyebrows, she said,"But, Harry, I thought being an Auror was your dream?" 

"Yeah, well, not anymore," Harry said quietly, the tone of his voice immediately having her sit up straight. Her eyes darted from Ginny, who looked back in confusion, to Ron, who seemed to be burning a hole in the carpet with his eyes. Anything she might have wanted to ask or say would have to wait until they were alone. 

Ron, however, had no such inclinations and seemed ready to question it right then. He lifted up his head, though his shoulders remained hunched when he said, "What do you mean, Harry? I thought me and you were gonna go be Aurors together. Like your dad and Sirius." 

His blue eyes were swimming with emotions - hurt and betrayal being at the forefront. As though Harry had said he was leaving them, leaving Ron with the feeling as if he had been left in the dust by his best mate. Harry knew the way Ron usually felt like less than his brothers and that going out into the world together, the two of them being as close even after Hogwarts, made him more special than any of the others who wished to be in with the 'Chosen One'. 

Harry sighed. He really did not want to get into it at that moment; did not want to explain how he could not stop thinking. How his future was so irreversibly changed from the moment he heard the prophecy in its entirety. How he could barely look at how happy Hermione and Ron were; the way he felt a mixture of love and resentment towards them. 

Just how he was so tired of fighting - with himself and the world - yet he never would or could stop until Voldemort was gone. Defeated by him, only ever him. 

All he could do was give a laugh, fake sounding as it was, and a version of the truth, "Nah, mate, you're right. I was just thinking there was something else I could do. What with the Ministry breathing down my neck. I haven't really given thought to any other careers, have I?" 

"Yeah," said Ron, sounding relieved and giving a smile in return. Harry felt guilty at the hurt leaving his eyes but still not wishing to burden him. "Bad luck being stuck with Potions still, though, eh?" 

Harry laughed along with Ron and Ginny and rolled his eyes when Hermione gave them a disapproving look. 

"Oh, come off it, Hermione," he said before she could interject with how he shouldn't slack off because of that. "I'll still work hard, yeah?" 

Hermione sniffed, muttering something about how he should 'do his own work and not cheat off that evil book'. Once again, Harry rolled his eyes and turned to Ginny, who looked curious and a little wary at the mention of an 'evil book'. 

"Anyway," Harry said quickly before Hermione could convince Ginny of its similarity to Tom Riddle's diary. It was not the same and he didn't need Ginny feeling betrayed that he was 'corresponding' with it. "There was something I wanted to ask." 

"Sure, Harry, what is it?" Ginny asked and Harry paused a bit at the eagerness of her voice. Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione and, not seeing them looking alarmed, he decided to ignore it. 

"Your mum, er..." Harry hesitated, not sure how to phrase it, especially with the way Mrs Weasley had went around crying after Percy had left with nary a goodbye.

Looking at the door for anyone coming through, he figured the direct approach was probably best. "Is she not happy that Bill and Fleur are soulmates?" 

At that, Ginny's face seemed both saddened and disdainful. Harry blinked a bit, not knowing whether that disdain was for her own mum or Fleur or something else entirely. Either way, he felt a bit uncomfortable at it. 

Turning to Ron held no answers either; he had turned his head away and coughed in discomfort. Hermione, too, sat looking awkward, probably knowing something but not wanting to take part in a conversation that had nothing to do with her. 

"Ron?" Harry asked cautiously, preferring not to prod Ginny when she looked like that. She shook her head, though, clearly wanting to answer herself.

"That _harpy_ is _not_ my brother's soulmate," she said, rather rudely in Harry's opinion. He gaped at her in surprise at which she just rolled her eyes, quite unrepentant at her words. 

"Ginny!" said both Hermione and Ron at the same time, with identical amounts of shock. For a moment they shared a sappy look which had Harry gagging before Ron spoke again. 

"It's not her fault, Ginny," he said quietly and a bit awkwardly at Ginny's glare. "The thing with Bill's soulmate. You know it's not her fault." 

"And she's not a Harpy, she's a Veela. A half one, even," Hermione felt the need to point out, always the one for facts. Everyone rolled their eyes, like 'honestly, hermione'. 

"Oh, whatever," Ginny shot to her feet and began gathering her things before making her way to the door. "It wasn't meant literally but it still applies!" 

The door shut with a bang behind her. 

"There's a difference," Hermione mumbled into the ensuing silence.

"We know, Hermione," Harry said compliantly, then turned to Ron. "Care to explain that?" 

Ron rubbed the back of his head, ruffling the strands before they flopped back down neatly. "Yeah," Ron said. "Thing is, well, Bill's soulmate is dead." 

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, her eyes widened in mortification at Ron's bluntness. Harry, in contrast, blinked his own eyes rapidly. 

"What?" Ron gaped, utterly unaware that his words could cause such reactions. "There's no nice way to say someone's died, Hermione!" 

"Still," Hermione insisted. "Be a little tactful."

"There's no one here to be offended," said Ron in a bewildered fashion. "Do you see Bill anywhere?" 

Instead of answering, Hermione flicked her head in Harry's direction, none too subtly. Ron frowned a little, then his face cleared and he sent Harry an apologetic look. 

Harry sat for a bit, a bit confused at what had happened before he, too, realised what Hermione was getting at. He scowled, feeling like a complete leper at their pity. It always returned to pity, Harry found, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with it. 

"Enough of that," Harry said through gritted teeth. "Carry on, Ron." 

"Yeah," Ron said again and cleared his throat a little. Hermione looked away and Harry thought, ' _good_ '. "Anyway, yeah. Bill hasn't got one anymore because- yeah. Ever wondered why Bill likes to keep his hair so long? Well, that's where- the mark. On his neck. That's where it is. It's all faded now, though. Been like that ever since..." 

Harry thought on that, absentmindedly rubbing at his aching jaw from how hard he had clenched it. "And Fleur?" he asked, wondering at the status of her own bond. 

"No idea, mate," said Ron softly, his far away gaze indicating deep thought. "She never talks about it. Bites your head off, too, if you ever ask her." 

"Ron!" Hermione scolded again, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Not me!" Ron yelped, looking appropriately scared at Hermione's admonishment. "I haven't asked, I swear. Mum has. Well, not anymore, but she did before." 

"Honestly," said Hermione. She looked deeply disapproving at Mrs Weasley asking what must be a deeply personal question. 

"I know," Ron said then, suddenly, grinned. "It's a wonder my brother got her though, isn't it? I mean, a girl like that... without a binding soul bond..." 

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, yet again. 

But Harry wasn't listening anymore, at that point - he was deep in thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions - i'm always excited to see them :D  
> let me know what you think, and please let any criticism be constructive.


	3. Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teen angst, soz.  
> also, soz for errors bc unbeta-ed.

_Sunday, 5th January 1997_

It was a few days after the New Year when it was time for Harry and the others to go back to Hogwarts. This time it was without the whole security detail that they got to King's Cross Station.

While Mr Weasley had managed to get the morning off, none of the others had and so it was only him and Mrs Weasley that accompanied them onto the platform.

As it was, a glance around showed a few stiff forms interspersed among the surrounding crowd that indicated Aurors on duty. The sight both relieved Harry and sent pangs of anxiety through him; it was a stark reminder of the constant danger they were in even after his relatively safe stay at the Burrow and Hogwarts.

Mrs Weasley was particularly distraught to see them go, as indicated by clinging hugs and tearful reminders to stay safe. Percy's brief visit on Christmas had really done a number on her emotional state and it was with slightly damp shirts that they all boarded the train.

Finding a compartment was loads easier than the beginning of term usually was; it appeared that not many had decided to go home for break. While not much had happened, in terms of attacks, after everyone realised that Voldemort had, in fact, returned, there was still a sense of unease blanketing the Wizarding community.

"Hey, Luna," Harry smiled at the only other occupant, who was sat opposite him. Ron and Hermione muttered quick greetings, dropped off their trunks and then left for their Prefect rounds.

Ginny only stayed long enough to mention something about going to see her boyfriend, Dean, and give a tiny strained smile before she was gone, as well.

"Hello, Harry," said Luna softly, which startled Harry slightly. It was quite a few minutes after he had initially sat down and he had taken her spaced out smile as a greeting, in any case.

"Good Christmas?" Harry asked instead of saying 'hello' again, which had been the knee jerk response on the tip of his tongue.

"Oh, yes," said Luna and she happily expanded on the adventures she and her father had gone on. Harry simply smiled, sat back and listened with an indulgent ear as she prattled on.

Later on, when Ron and Hermione entered the compartment again, Harry and Luna had settled into a comfortable silence.

With an exhausted moan Ron collapsed into the seat beside Harry and began attacking the sweets that littered the space between them.

Hermione smiled, a tad less tiredly, and carefully avoided asking Luna about her holiday. Harry grinned slightly and looked out the window - endlessly amused at Hermione's opinion regarding the creatures Luna spoke about and the way in which Luna continued to be unperturbed. It was one thing Harry greatly admired about her.

"Hey, where's Ginny?" Ron asked abruptly through a mouthful of his chocolate frog. All around the compartment faces scrunched up in revulsion - at least, Harry's and Hermione's did, Luna just looked mildly interested, as though the contents of Ron's mouth were a fascinating creature.

"Ron, that's disgusting," said Hermione primly. "Do I have to remind you to chew properly before you speak? I'm not your mother, you know."

"Could've fooled me," Ron muttered mulishly, the tips of his ears turning red rather rapidly. Hermione opened her mouth in outrage but Harry decided to intervene before the two of them started bickering all the way to Hogwarts.

"She went to see Dean, she said," Harry cut in quickly and then, more thoughtfully, "Wonder why she's so awkward around me all of a sudden..."

It was almost like the early days of Harry's friendship with Ron, where she had been too shy to speak all of two words to him. It had changed after second year, when he had rescued her from the Chamber, and over the years Harry had thought they had become friends as well. Especially after her admittance onto the Quidditch team.

Harry didn't think it was anything like that, though - granted, there had been a few moments during the holiday where he had thought she might have been acting a bit too friendly, but. It didn't feel like that, not after Christmas day where she had her outburst about Fleur.

"Well, that's 'cos she fancies you, 'course," Ron commented, idly looking over a pair of matching chocolate frog cards, which depicted a bonded couple famous for something Harry wasn't interested in.

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed at the same time Harry shouted an accusing, "Hermione!"

"You're not meant to tell him!" Hermione flustered, looking anywhere but at Harry's betrayed stare. This just showed that she blatantly lied to him - not that it was all that important, but. Still. 

"And _you_ told me it wasn't like that anymore," said Harry, daring her with his eyebrows to deny it.

"Yes, well," Hermione started, then looked him in the eye and adopted the look of a cornered yet defiant kitten. "I lied. I shouldn't have but I'm not sorry I did."

"But-" Harry started, only to have Hermione interject, "Look. It's better that she doesn't get any false hope."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and said, "But don't people date before finding their soulmate, anyways? And isn't she, at this very moment, dating someone?"

Not that he had any sort of romantic designs on Ginny, he was just trying to understand why Hermione would be against it even if he _were_ interested.

"Yes, usually never seriously, but yes," Hermione said, waving her hand in the air to indicate the unimportance of her words.

She didn't realise it but her words cut at Harry; it was as though she was saying any relationship outside of a legitimate soulbond was irrelevant. Considering that Harry might not even have one - well, it hurt that she pitied his situation one minute, and even felt a bit of sympathy, and completely belittled it the next.

Harry swallowed at the pain, though, and focused his thoughts on Bill and Fleur. They weren't even meant to be, not according to 'magic', and yet... they worked so well together and anyone could see just how happy they were.

And, if his suspicions were correct, Fleur still _had_ a soulmate - only, she chose Bill over that person, was _happier_ with him.

It was amazing and, where the majority of relationships were predestined, Harry found this unintentional and uncontrollable love much more beautiful.

So, while the notion of not having a soulmate still stung, he hoped he found what Fleur and Bill had managed to create.

"That's not what I meant, though," said Harry, realising they had gotten a bit off track. "I meant, after Christmas. Is Ginny OK? She's been acting a bit odd. And not in a 'she fancies me' sort of way." 

"Oh, yeah," said Ron, shrugging and looking away from the tiny tower of cards he had built. "She probably just feels weird about how she reacted about Fleur, s'all." 

"She didn't look very sorry after, though," Harry pointed out. "Still doesn't, really." 

"She's not, I reckon," Ron shrugged again, any awkwardness he had felt from Christmas having shown up again. "You know her. Mum's the same." 

"Yeah. Why is that, by the way?" Harry was not willing to let it go; he still felt highly affronted at their actions, quite happy as he was for Bill and Fleur himself. 

"Dunno about Ginny..." Ron scratched his ear idly. "I mean, she's always been close to Bill. She's a bit protective, is all." 

"OK, yeah. I mean, I get that, honestly," said Harry in frustration, not really getting it all. "What about your mum? She can be protective all she likes but it's not on. The way she is to Fleur. Is it about the soulmates thing? Because, in case she hasn't noticed, Bill hasn't got a chance of that anymore!" 

By the end of it, Harry's voice had risen to a shout and everyone was staring at him with huge eyes. Luna always stared with huge eyes, they were just like that, but Ron and Hermione seemed genuinely shocked.

"Harry..." Hermione started but Harry shook his head and folded his arms, feeling defensive.  

"No, 'Mione," said Harry and he was glad his voice remained even. "The whole bloody world is obsessed with soulmates. And I know it's a big deal, or whatever. But don't you think its rubbish the way normal couples are treated as some weird thing that hardly anyone wants to talk about? The moment someone turns seventeen its like any relationship that's not with your soulmate is like... like taboo, as if you're committing infidelity or something." 

The moment Harry's rant ended he was breathing heavily, the sound of his harsh mouthfuls of air punctuating the otherwise silent compartment. 

Luna looked as serious as her large eyes allowed her to, the pale irises darting from face to face. She didn't look as though she wanted to disturb whatever argument was about to come up. 

Ron, for his part, looked about ready for the worn leather seats to swallow him up - along with the fistfuls of crumpled wrappers and bent cards he held with slowly whitening knuckles. His gaze remained firmly on Hermione, warily waiting on her to speak. 

Harry watched her, as well, knowing that she knew that this particular conversation was aimed solely at her - always the defendant of soulmates as she was. 

"Harry..." Hermione started again. Her face held an unreadable look which already had Harry tensing. She rubbed at the space between the crease of her eyebrows. "I know these past couple months have been difficult for you." 

"This isn't about me," Harry tried, not wanting to be accused of making everything about him. If he had any say, he would rather not be the central focus of anything.  

Even with his friends, he always felt as though he was the only one with problems large enough to discuss.  He knew this was not entirely true; only the constant attention he always got almost made it seem so. 

"I know," said Hermione but the pursing of her lips said something else. "But it sort of ties in with this. Don't you see, Harry? Soulmates are a huge part of being a part of the magical community. If you paid more attention to those books I told you to read you'd know that. Squibs don't even have them, they don't have the magic to support it." 

Harry tightened his crossed arms, feeling both angry and guilty. He had promised himself he would learn as much as he could, hadn't he? But the promise felt ages away and his enthusiasm had waned quite a bit.

He had tried reading the books but his heart hadn't been in it. Hermione trying to force him through them had only made him more obstinate in his refusal to learn more. 

"So?" Harry said stubbornly. 

"So," Hermione pressed back. "Mrs Weasley is only concerned that Fleur is abandoning her soulmate by staying with Bill." 

"You don't know that! Has she said she has one waiting on her?"

Even though he had been thinking the same thing, in the face of Hermione mentioning it he felt as though she were counting it as a something bad; rather than the good Harry had seen in it. 

"Don't I?" Hermione countered with a raised eyebrow. "It's only logical. If her soulmate was... as gone as Bill's was wouldn't she have said so? No, I think it's something else." 

"Exactly," Harry said, finally getting to the crux of it. "Shouldn't that tell you something? Magic could be wrong. Maybe her soulmate is a horrible person, all wrong for her. Merlin, maybe it's someone like Voldemort." 

Despite clearly trying not to, Ron gave a slight twitch at the mention of Voldemort's name. Harry gave him an unimpressed look and Ron grimaced sheepishly. 

"Magic isn't wrong," said Hermione with all the conviction of someone who always believed what she read to be right.

Harry rolled his eyes, not believing that for a moment.

"Besides, with the amount of atrocities he has done he honestly hasn't got a chance of having a soulmate." 

"Right," Harry said darkly. "Magic is so good and righteous she strips away evil people's soulmates. Well, that's lovely, but what about the other half? The probably 'innocent' counterparts. Is that fair?"

Hermione opened her mouth, eyes softening again and Harry held up a hand. He didn't want her to start apologising now that she had remembered just how close she was stepping. Hermione sat back in her seat and stared down at her hands, which began to twist together anxiously. 

"I admit it's a bit... not right," she said and Harry snorted in contempt. Her head lifted up and she looked over him in a way that reminded him in uncomfortably of another, extremely different pair of brown eyes. "But that doesn't mean that soulmates are wrong in themselves. There are good things about it - the bond, for one. Most of the time it's so strong that people can feel it even before the marks are shown. Like a magical connection."  

"That's nice," said Harry.

Hermione faltered. "And-and that's why it's better not to commit to relationships if you don't feel that connection." 

"Fine," said Harry, feeling as though they were talking in circles he turned away. He wasn't particularly interested in this 'ciconnection' she spoke of, he had never felt it with anyone and doubted he would. 

His eyes landed on a silent Luna. She looked back serenely and though her eerie eyes should have had him uneasy, he only felt calmer at her non judgment.  

"Harry has a soulmate," said Luna, her voice a startling serenity in a way that made theirs seem harsh. She always had a way of saying things as fact that had Hermione's penchant for fact spewing petty. 

"Thanks, Luna. But you can't-" Harry started, only to pause at her tiny, comforting smile. Harry had no idea how she did it but all traces of pity or sympathy that could have been held in her smile were only replaced by acceptance. Her ever present sense of just knowing had Harry feeling both exasperated and fond. 

"You have a soulmate, you just can't reach them," she said, rather solemnly for her large eyes and upturned lips. "But perhaps they shall reach you, if they wish it enough." 

Her words were enough to instil both hope and sadness in him - hope that she could be right, no matter how he hadn't a idea how, and sadness that he couldn't be as optimistic as she was. 

He was only sixteen but he already felt eons beyond that and he wondered whether turning seventeen would feel like any age to him - let alone 'of age'.  

"Anyone up for a game of Exploding Snap?" Ron breached, startling an incredulous huff of laughter from Harry. Either way, nodded his head and reached for the cards Ron had already set out. 

* * *

_Monday, 6th January 1997_

_Evening_

The one side-apparition he had undergone with Dumbledore was enough to convince him that flying was the only magical transportation he could stomach. 

Ron, though, in his excitement had informed everyone of Harry's experience; thankfully not mentioning Dumbledore's name. After that, just about everyone had to know what it was like. 

Harry found it very odd that he was the only one, at least of the Gryffindors, who had 'done' apparition before. Then again, he thought, both Dean and Seamus were halfbloods and while Ron and Neville weren't, knowing what he did about their respective guardians it wasn't that surprising. He knew nothing about the girls from Hermione's dorm mates, but it was still hard to believe they were that ignorant of a type transport that he figured would be commonplace for its convenience. 

Harry tried convincing them of the uncomfortable and, frankly, vomit inducing attributes of it just to get them to leave him aloneto which they wholeheartedly ignored. The way in which they had sieged upon looking for exciting details had only abated after supper. 

Just in case, he still sat in a shadowed corner of the common room, looking for peace in the isolated area. The large tome on Defense magic held in front of his face held a clear message to stay away. 

Hermione, as usual, ignored the signs as she settled herself onto the arm of his chair. Harry turned a page without acknowledging her. He didn't really want to talk to her, not with her fluctuating between being preachy and judgy mixed with obnoxious looks of fake sympathy that showed she had no concept of the way he actually felt. 

The fact that he knew that was just the way she worked did not stop his annoyance and frustration at her. 

Surprisingly she did start off with saying his name beseechingly, she just plopped a book onto his lap and waited for him to indicate he had noticed. 

"What's that," said Harry flatly, not bothering to look down at the book. He would bet it had something to do with soulmates. 

"It's something I should have given you to read first," said Hermione quickly, rushing through her words in fear he would stop her. "I read it when I first came to the Wizarding world and found out we even had soulmates." 

Harry silently congratulated himself on winning his own bet and, with exaggerated slow movements, set the Defense text aside and lifted up the other. 

The title looked a bit dry, reading as 'Souls and Bonds'. It was not very thick either, about the size of the average textbook. 

"Thanks," said Harry and he flipped through the pages, not really taking in much of anything beyond the odd word.

"Listen..." Hermione started. And there it was...

"I'll read it sometime, alright?" Harry said, wishing that was the end of it. 

"No, not that," said Hermione hastily."I was just wondering. You know how you saw Snape and Malfoy after the Christmas party?" 

"Yeah, what of it?" asked Harry, narrowing his eyes slightly. 

"Well you haven't spoken of it. Not after the first mention, anyways," said Hermione and Harry rolled his eyes. 

"Yeah, and?" 

"Well, just..." she gave him look that he took to mean that he should know what she talking about. He didn't. "Why not?" 

"I've said it all, haven't I?" said Harry, running his hand through his scruffy hair. Honestly, all conversations with Hermione just seemed to take the turn into exhausting. "Malfoy is up to something and Snape wants to help him, whatever." 

"Whatever?" she repeated, surprise colouring her voice. 

"Yeah, whatever. I don't care," That wasn't entirely true. It wasnt like he wanted to stand by and watch Malfoy burn the school down on Voldemort's orders.

He just didn't see what speculating about it helped, anymore. He wanted to do something to stop Malfoy; just not that, not talking and talking with no real direction. 

"Harry, you've always cared before," said Hermione insistently. Harry could have sworn they had that very same conversation before. He sighed.

"Well, I'm tired of it. You didn't really believe me anyway, why are you going on about it now?" 

"I've been thinking on it... and you might be right, Harry. It's too suspicious,"

"Yay," he said monotonously, giving an unenthusiastic pump of his fists. Hermione frowned. 

"Harry, I'm being serious here." 

"Alright, I'll bring it up with Dumbledore," Harry lied. He had no intention of telling Dumbledore about it - he already knew that Dumbledore would just brush it off and insist on the goodness of Snape. It had always been a useless hope that Dumbledore would listen to Harry for once. 

"Right now, in fact," said Harry as he stood with both books held in his hands. "I've a meeting with him." 

"OK, well, have fun," Hermione waved and gave a weak grin, one which he had barely returned before he took off to put his books away first. 

He was not looking forward to the coming 'lesson'. 

* * *

_Tuesday, 7th January 1997_

_Mid-Morning_

Harry went through Potions with half a mind - the other half being focused on how to approach Slughorn after the lesson.

If Harry were honest, though, he didn't want to have to do it _at all_. He had a feeling that asking his professor about that particular memory would not be a very good idea - considering it was about Voldemort, after all.

In actual fact, Harry was also just a bit resentful that Dumbledore had asked him to do this so called 'task'. At the beginning of the year, when Dumbledore had first mentioned they would be having private lessons, watching memories of a young Voldemort had not been what Harry had expected.

Even more - while interesting, Harry couldn't see what the point of it all was. Why Dumbledore had to dedicate entire evenings spent in a pensieve. It was a waste, Harry thought, and he wondered why Dumbledore didn't simply tell him what he needed to know instead of going about it in mysterious ways.

Harry was also disappointed at the complete lack of lessons on Defense. Sure, loathe as he was to admit it, Snape was an alright teacher but Harry wanted more. He _needed_ more if he ever wanted to be strong enough to match Voldemort. But with every lesson that went past where they just sat in Dumbledore's office talking, Harry couldn't help the feelings of defeat and resignation.

At the end of the Potions lesson, Harry stood at his table and awkwardly pretended to be struggling with the clasps on his bag. He pointedly ignored the glares from Ron and Hermione; he wasn't sorry for going around the point of the lesson in order to gain approval from Slughorn.

Harry needed Slughorn to be in a good mood so that his attempts at gathering information would go smoother. Honestly, the lesson had been to come up with an antidote to cure most poisons and, while he hadn't come up with it himself, the bezoar he had presented was a nice way of not standing there like a lump in front of a useless potion.

Ron would understand later why Harry couldn't have snuck him one as well. It would have looked entirely too suspicious and, in all likelihood, ridiculous if the both of them had done it.

As for Hermione, well, she was just sour at being one upped again. She would fume a bit but Harry didn't care about that; to be honest, her attitude about his Potions performance was getting a little tiresome. Not to mention how tiresome he found her presensce in general.

He didn't like it and knew he would have to fix it soon. 

Harry looked around and, seeing no one besides Slughorn, stopped fiddling with his bag and approached the man's desk.

"Sir," Harry began hesitantly. While he had thought on his approach, he still wasn't sure using Tom Riddle's opening line would endear him to Slughorn any.

Slughorn looked up, smiling amiably and Harry swallowed around a dry throat. 

Perhaps he should have listened to Hermione and thought up a better strategy; well, he was here now, and might as well...

"Sir, I wondered what you know about... horcruxes?" Harry watched as a shadow passed over Slughorn's face; he cringed, while he hadn't been capable of mimicking Riddle's perfectly polite and curious tone, the wording had been similar and had clearly hit a nerve.

A dull thud just beyond the door caught their attention and Harry turned around with sudden dread. He had, like an idiot, completely forgotten to shut the door.

The entrance of the classroom did not hold a curious eavesdropper but any sort of chance of Slughorn opening up was nil beyond that point.

Slughorn had turned away to fumble with his briefcase and said in harsh but shakily quiet voice, "You can tell Dumbledore that he's wasting his time. I don't know anything!"

It was with slumped shoulders and an embarrassed flush that Harry left the room. What an utter failure, Harry thought morosely, he really should work on his subtlety in the future.

Pausing on the threshold of the door, Harry stared at the figure leaning against the wall. He sighed in exasperation and walked a couple steps, closing the door behind him; of _course_ it would be Zabini who had listened to him fumble at extracting information.

"Potter," said Zabini and Harry shut his mouth on his own opening words. Harry watched in slight trepidation as Zabini lifted his gaze to look at him.

His eyes were as serious as the rest of him - from his stony face to his rigid posture, they all lined up with the stiff tone he had used to say Harry's name.

Harry usually saw Zabini as a stoic bloke, barring the times when he had let the facade slip - be it in a more common smirk or the rare smile and even the ever present gleam he held in his eyes whenever he looked upon Harry.

There was none of that now and it had Harry feeling uneasy. The fact that Zabini had never spoke to him like that also had him looking down at his feet in nervousness.

Harry struggled a bit with the sense that he should apologise and the confusion that accompanied it. Harry curled his fists and forced his head up in defiance; Zabini had no right making him feel so small and he hated the fact that he felt that way at all.

"What?" said Harry more than asked, and tried his best to match the dark tone of Zabini. It wasn't very difficult. "Why are you listening to private conversations? Are you stalking me?"

"Hardly," Zabini scoffed dismissively. "It's not my fault you chose to have 'private' conversations without shutting the door, Potter."

Zabini took a step towards him and, without thought, Harry stumbled a step away from him. Zabini paused and cocked his head to the side, hard eyes surveying him.

Harry cursed inwardly and tried to straighten his defensive stance. Any sign of weakness would surely be pounced upon with glee.

Harry wondered with a bit of helplessness how he could have ever felt comfortable in Zabini's presence before.

When Zabini moved closer again Harry stood firm, refusing to budge an inch no matter how uncomfortable he found the heat of Zabini's near angry gaze.

"Especially when those 'private'..." here, Zabini's marble face contorted in a sneer. Harry shivered as Zabini's breath neared his ear; Zabini looked at him with a slightly lowered head, his eyes peeking through unfairly long eyelashes. "...Conversations are being held about _dark magic_."

Harry's breathing stuttered to a halt. Zabini had heard him saying 'horcruxes', then; he knew that, obviously, as he had been interrupted as soon as he had uttered the word. Even so, Zabini knew he was looking for information on the damn things and Harry had no idea what Zabini was going to do about that.

He also had no idea whether Zabini had heard Slughorn say Dumbledore's name and just who he would tell.

Harry focused on the muscle ticking in Zabini's strong jaw and, clearing his throat, he said as evenly as he could muster, "You think I don't know that? Of course it's dark magic."

He knew it was, as if Voldemort would inquire about anything else. What _sort_ of dark magic, now that was a mystery, but if he knew anything about Voldemort it must have been something entirely dangerous and repugnant.

Zabini's hands came up then and clutched at Harry's robes, pulling him ever closer. Harry fought the urge to pull free, which became escpecially difficult with Zabini's mouth nearly touching at the side of his temple. His breath was hot on Harry's skin but any heat immediately cooled upon contact with the beads of sweat gathering on his forehead.

"You know it's so very dark, do you?" Somehow the forced calm in Zabini's tone was tons worse than the initial sinister tone of before. Harry's heart was beating as frantically as it did after he was done flying; he was not afraid, not entirely, he just felt completely out of his depth - Zabini had never been this close to him before.

Harry brought up his own hands and grabbed his wrists, squeezing them in warning. Though the angle was a bit awkward with Zabini's forearms pressed tightly against his chest, Harry could feel Zabini's pulse beating nearly as quickly as his own.

This gave Harry pause but he dared not look at Zabini's face, not sure what he would see there. He wasn't sure if Zabini's heightened pulse was due to the same reason as Harry's - which was mostly nerves at the close proximity - or his initial dark attitude towards Harry's interest in horcruxes.

Which Harry was still perplexed about. Shouldn't Zabini be taunting him about 'dabbling' in the Dark Arts? Zabini was a Slytherin but... was he a Dark Wizard? Harry didn't know.

"Why do you care?" Harry whispered, not even able to pitch his voice any higher with Zabini right there. Zabini stiffened minutely and any other time Harry might not have noticed, but with the closeness of the bodies it was hard to miss.

"Do you have _any idea_..." said Zabini, his breath fluttering the hair curled around Harry's ear. "Horcruxes _destroy_ your soul... Do you have any idea what that could do..."

Harry stilled, the almost-desperation of Zabini's words finally cluing Harry in to what the problem was. It was absurd, absolutely mad, but for some reason Zabini was _worried_ about Harry - about his soul, of all things...

Well, at least now he knew, somewhat, what was so dark about horcruxes. Harry wanted to wretch.

A fluttering on his chest made Harry look down; Zabini had flattened one of his hands so that it laid flat against the Gryffindor crest and on his wildly thumping heart. 

It was the most intimate embrace Harry had ever participated in and his already nauseous stomach immediately erupted with more nauseating butterflies. 

Harry loosened one of his hands and curled it around Zabini's splayed hand, pulling at the fingers to pry it away. Zabini barely fought it and instead twined his own fingers through Harry's in a handhold. 

They were holding hands, Harry realised in a startled wonder. He looked up, his eyes widening when they met Zabini's penetrating stare. They were stood so close that Harry could pinpoint each tiny spot of gold in the sea of brown. 

The way Zabini held his gaze so firm it felt as though he were attempting to look into Harry's very soul; to gauge whether any irreparable damage had already been done. 

When Zabini spoke into the miniscule space between them his voice had softened to a whisper as well, losing its earlier sharp edge. 

"Do you know what you could lose?" 

Harry couldn't help the bitter curl around his smile; he knew Zabini was referring to what happened with a torn soul. As if anyone would let him forget. For some reason, the fact that Zabini wouldn't either was a blow to the chest.

"I know," he said, the words falling like bits of gravel out of his tongue. 

For a moment a flash of something went through Zabini's eyes - surprise, alarm, concern, fear, Harry was uncertain and its second of appearance gave no help. 

Harry took a strong step back and, perhaps he had not expected it, Zabini let him. Their hands fell away limply and Harry shivered at the sudden cold air of the dungeon. For those few minutes of burning contact Harry had nearly forgotten just where they were. 

"Forgive me," Zabini said, his head angled away and eyes skittering around the corrider as though following his echoing words. "I forgot myself..." he trailed off, seeming to want to say something else but his voice just faded away. 

"It's fine," Harry said gruffly, folding his hands into an open pocket of his satchel. "I appreciate your... concern," his mouth twisted up oddly at the word but Zabini didn't correct him. "But I'm not looking to wreck my soul further. This was just for a... friend." 

Zabini's head had turned to him sharply at what Harry said, at him implying that his soul was already damaged. Harry didn't plan on elaborating further, just turned away. 

No parting words were given from either of them; the air was too thick and cold with bitter confusion. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had wanted to post this sooner, last week in fact, but it just did not want to cooperate. in the end it became rather long, so i'm splitting this chapter. the other half will probably be posted in a few days.  
> thanks for giving this piece of shit kudos and stuff, it makes me insanely happy  
> you can criticise this, i guess, but pls let it be constructive.


	4. Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is much later than i said it would be... much apologies :(  
> reasons are in the end notes bc i'd like you to get to the story first :)  
> just a warning though: we're getting to darker bits of the story. can't be helped - there's a war starting, after all.  
> as usual, it is unbeta-ed, which i am also sorry for in the case of errors.

 

_Afternoon_

Going through lessons as though nothing had occurred was especially difficult and by his friends’ inquisitive looks - with which they attempted with subtlety as they were still meant to be angry with him - Harry was failing quite badly.

By the time class was over and they had trudged back up to Gryffindor the three of them collapsed onto the nearest couches. The fireplace was crackling with orange hot flames and students huddled around it. A few shovings took place as some fought for the best place. None of the present prefects sought to put a stop to it, letting it dwindle into playful pushing.

“So that was a brutal lesson,” Ron ventured once their tired sighs had faded into the surrounding noise. Harry's head lolled to side to look at him and Ron peeked open one of his eyes. It seemed he had given up on holding onto the grudge of that morning’s bezoar incident.

“It was hard, yeah.” Harry stretched out his cramping fingers and rolled his wrist to relieve the ache. “Interesting, though.”

“Yeah.”

That seemed the end of it, a feeling of tenseness leaving the air after a day full of stubbornly maintained silence. Harry was glad that there was no need for any awkward apologies and then afterwards an explanation.

Harry turned a lifted brow to Hermione, who had not yet opened her books but looked on the verge of reaching for her bag to do so. She wavered for a moment before raising her eyebrows back, curiosity winning out once again.

“How did it go with Professor Slughorn?”

Harry grimaced. He didn't want to mention Zabini at all; it would have been rather uncomfortable having to explain how Zabini had acted. For one, he couldn't explain because he honestly had no clue - plus, how out of the blue would mentioning him be? Harry never indicated to his friends that he had ever spoken to him before. And for two, he just knew they would accuse Zabini of feeding him false ideas for some no doubt nefarious Slytherin scheme.

The way Zabini had acted, with a raw impulsiveness he had never seen before, was too real to be feigned. He wouldn't believe the one time that he had shown that kind of emotion longer than a minute had been a plot.

Harry could almost feel the way Zabini had felt against him; so much heat for a person so icy to almost everyone he interacted with.

Harry angled his head away, hoping to hide his expression from the watchful eyes.

“Not so good, if I'm honest.”

Ron leaned forward, dropping his pose of awaiting death that he always adopted at the end of a full school day. “Why, what happened?”

“Well, I might've stirred up bad memories with the way I asked.” Harry scratched the back of his head, still cringing a bit at his words. “He only mumbled a bit about it wrecking the soul." Ron turned pale and Harry nodded at him in commiseration. "Then he chucked me out.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes, suspecting a bit of lie in his words; which, of course, there was but it honestly wasn't important.

“You shouldn't have cornered him like that. I said so, didn't I?” Harry let loose a breath. He felt the rebuke justified and was grateful she chose not to call him out on other things, in any case.

“Yeah, you did. But you've not suggested anything else so I just went with it.”

Hermione sighed. “I know. We’ll think of something.”

Harry must have let his surprise show for her indignant frown. “What? Oh, don't pull that face. You shouldn't have to do this on your own in the first place. Honestly, what is Dumbledore thinking?”

Harry shrugged, having thought on that countless times and still not having come to a conclusion.

Ron glanced at Harry, his face still maintaining a queasy look even as he turned contemplative.

“Hey, Harry?”

“Yeah, Ron?”

“Have you thought maybe…?” Ron paused, biting his lip in a bit of hesitance. “You know, maybe, about starting up the DA again?”

“Uh, no. No, I haven't.” Harry frowned, looking between Ron and Hermione. He honestly had not given it a thought after Umbridge had stopped terrorising Hogwarts. “You reckon we should?”

“It might not be such a bad idea,” said Hermione, sounding as though she was just now considering it as well.

“I mean,” Ron leaned forward even further, almost falling off the edge of the couch in his eagerness to share. “Dumbledore is helping you in Merlin knows what ways but you can't defeat-” he stopped, furtively and belatedly checked for eavesdroppers and, satisfied, continued, “You know… with just memories. Know your enemy and all that, fine, but you're still both wizards.”

“I see what you're saying,” said Harry, as the thought had occurred to him before. “But start the whole DA again? Couldn't we do it with just us? If I'm honest, I'm not keen on sneaking around again this year.”

“Maybe we don't have to.” Hermione started digging through her bag for a quill and parchment, clearly ready to begin making lesson plans already. “Without Umbridge there's no rule that states we can't start up a study group.”

“And,” Ron added, near standing up in his effort to see what Hermione was so furiously writing out. “You've always learned better teaching, haven't you?”

"Yeah, more hands on," Harry agreed, rubbing at a smudge on his glasses as he thought it over. "You guys don't think it's a bit late in the year, though? There's, what, five, six months of school left?"

"It's fine." Ron flapped his hand and shook his head. "S'not like we're struggling with the coursework and all that."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, just struggling to prepare for a war and 'all that'."

"About right." Ron appeared slightly embarrassed, the tips of his ears staining pink.

"We probably should have done this earlier." Hermione ended a sentence with a sharp point, looked it over critically before focussing on them. "But there's nothing for it now. I really think it would be a good idea to at least try, Harry."

Harry sighed and leaned back, feeling exhausted all over again. He wasn't exactly opposed to it and he knew the idea had merit. It would give him something to do and he could stop the parts that had him hating himself for being useless. Like Hermione said, there was nothing for it but to try.

“Snape’s going to kick up a fuss about this, you both realise?”

Ron grinned and Hermione gave a tiny smile as they exchanged amused glances.

“Well,” said Ron. “All the better for it, I say.”

And, well, he really couldn't find an argument against that.

* * *

_Later_

Many things were like drowning, Harry often found. The simplest of cases was doubly so for being literal: Harry could not swim. In any large body of water he only knew barely enough to stay afloat - where every intake of breath was a fight against the kicking of his legs and the flailing of his arms.

He hadn't much experience in this - the instance being an isolated one - which was all more reason for it becoming an apt metaphor for other completely different yet similar incidents.

The day had been a horrible frigid one and, in an expected twist, a prelude to the best memory of his short life. The one where the Dursley's had once again displayed their profound fear for anything unnatural, taking the most extreme actions in not allowing him a glimpse of the very first letter addressed to him.

The tiny hut was across a violent mess of waves and prickly rocks, the place that the Dursley's thought to be removed enough without having to take the money and effort to find a location to suit their needs better.

Harry had been a mix of unease and resignation; for of course his relatives would endure the little bit of discomfort if only so that their nephew might suffer worse than them. They had never taken him anywhere on a holiday before and had always left him with the odd cat lady down the street; so that first view of the sea gave him a clenching stomach for all its vastness.

The largest amount of water he had been subjected to fell away to half remembered memories, to when he was little and his aunt still allowed him baths.

With nervous eyes as they travelled on a boat he thought: surely, for all Dudley's meanness he would not push him in for a spot of fun? Surely, he chanted desperately, even as the horrible thought appeared in those piggy eyes for all the world to see.

The crash was painful as though he had been shoved into a nearby rock instead of merely liquid. All his previous thoughts on the tranquillity of water - throwaway metaphors on the saddened sky crying, the soothing action of washing the dishes which also washed away the murderous reactions to his aunt's spiteful remarks, and the relief at finally getting to wash off the grime on his skin even if it was with a pitifully short hosing down in the yard. They all vanished into the sharp teeth of the sea and the lashing rain which gave him no break into open air; no room to gasp for breath, much less help.

There was a moment where he fought his instinct to stay afloat and his instinct fought him in turn, with the water equally taking blows in his vulnerable spots.

Which had amounted to all of him as there was nowhere to hide and nowhere to take comfort in the incensed beast that had become of the sea and storm.

Salt assaulted his mouth and reflexively sought his throat as his head dunked in and out from the punishing hands of rain.

When he had finally been removed, grasped from under the whips that had become his arms, he had been numb from the cold and the realisation that he nearly been killed. Nowhere had there been evidence of his cousin's humanity before but just the fact that Harry had been sent to an obvious death had even so deadened him to any care he might have thought his relatives held for him.

For as he lay there, on a cramped bit of boat-floor, he looked not up at the scowling face of his uncle nor the ugly sneer of his aunt; it was the unfamiliar face of the scraggly hut owner that showed to be his saviour.

The striking of rain against every surface blurred his vision and it was only the pressing of plastic against his shaking hand that alerted him to fact that his glasses had fallen off; possibly in the mid-flight exhale as he fell.

Were not every inch of him already drenched he would not have had an excuse for the moisture suddenly bubbling in his eyes; the warmth of tears only known by him.

A simple scathing look at the scrunched up man and comforting pat on the head of his pouting son was the extent of his uncle's reaction to the scene. Harry could not have been under water upon water for all that long but even so the remaining journey to the beaten down hut, with no one but him and a stranger having acknowledged what had happened, felt infinitely longer than his battle for life.

It was after that which had Harry thinking on drowning.  For though he had not succumbed to the act itself, he had been there on the cusp and he continued to be on the edge. Even the little things translated that submerging feeling.

Not that he was a walking embodiment of the act of dying and many times he didn't think of it all; in any case he shouldn't have had to, his life was practically a danger within the Dursley's home. Hogwarts fared no better, either.

But just in that fact, when he walked into perilous situations where he was ill equipped to deal with them, had him in the sensation of pushing and pulling and ultimately being grabbed from under his arms. Luck had him in hand the way that the stranger had been; saving him where he proved unskilled.

In the mundane world, he refused to walk into traps set by his relatives which in themselves were the pockets of drowning incidents. Biting back retorts was the seawater in his lungs, ducking his head from fists the beating of rain, and the view from his isolated place at the kitchen table the slicing of cold and bitter water.

But just like the aftermath of him almost drowning, numbness was the reaction to the Dursley's callousness. In the end, they were nothing - just like they should have been all along.

The magical world was infinitely better in all aspects, including this one. Even though he faced near death more often than at Privet Drive, and arguably worse so, he felt more exhilaration in the way drowning manifested.

He drowned in warmth from newly found friendship, and then familiar heat of a still burning fire of a family that wanted him. He drowned in the drawn out lectures of his bookish and sometimes overwhelming friend. He drowned the magic of Hogwarts; in the insignificant things such as performing a simple spell and the silkiness of his dad's invisibility cloak.

Flying was drowning in an obscure way only Harry could see. There was a fragility to it in that he was constantly vulnerable to falling and never breathing, and the air to hold him and his magic to catch him.

That feeling, that drowning was everywhere, sometimes a feeling he surrendered to utterly. And sometimes holding the deep bone fear - like that of being trapped in his mind, in Voldemort's mind. It was then of his first time, the only literal time, that seemingly felt most like being in turbulent water.

He dreamed of red eyes that felt like blood - like the rain was instead the gods weeping of murder. He saw it, the pain of others becoming his own that showed he was Harry and the deep pleasure that showed he was Voldemort.

Magic flowed through him and from him; prickling clouds of shadow and suffocation and then wings of Dark and power drawing him from the waves.

He was mutilated man that orchestrated screams like the tortured wind and he was scarred boy gasping in helplessness.  

Harry awoke to aching breaths, having swallowed all that grating salt, feeling as though there was a metaphor in there somewhere.

* * *

_Wednesday, 8th January 1997_

_Morning_

Dark red was the first thing Harry saw as he opened his eyes - a direct comparison to what he had seen with his eyes closed.

His breath stopped as in the phantom pursuit of air before whooshing out in a sigh. Harry pushed back deeper into his pillows, the red colour mirroring the hangings around his bed. The particular shade was rather more comforting, being of a darker one than freshly spilled blood.

The centre of his forehead was throbbing something fierce and uncomfortable warmth traced down the side of his face - his blood this time, his scar having split open as it purged the foulness of his nightmare.

The morning was quiet with only soft snores filtering through the room; otherwise absent of the frantic sounds of dorm mates rushing to get ready for the day.  Harry usually got up at an earlier time than the others - remnants of his childhood with Aunt Petunia banging on his door to make breakfast - but even still, he was unnerved by the silence.

The feeling stayed with him as he got up, all throughout his drawn out shower where he stood under hot water and tried to warm up the muscle deep cold. His dressing was with jerky movements as clothing felt rough against his raw and still damp skin.

The wash of magic as he dried himself through his clothes as an almost afterthought was cool and calm that had him relaxing slightly. Still with his wand, he then tidied up his discarded pyjamas (leaving everything else untouched as Dobby was sure to dissolve into hysterics) and packed away his books - anything to keep the feeling of his own magic in his veins. Even after his shower he could still feel the foulness of Dark and taste iron and salt after brushing his teeth twice with magical toothpaste.

He hadn't had a vision such as that in quite a while. Voldemort had cut himself off from Harry without him having to put work into learning Occlumency again. He hadn't got a clear picture on what exactly Voldemort had been doing but just the fact that he had been let in at all was disconcerting. Harry considered it being another trap and his heart sped up before he shakily disregarded it. It had been too vague for that.

Wishing not to be alone in the stillness, he shocked Ron awake with a spell that drew his hangings wide open.

The redhead predictably grumbled obscenities as grey but piercing light startled his blue eyes into opening. Ron huffed as Harry laughed at the rumpled look on his face, giving him two rude gestures in order to display his profound disgruntlement. Harry's tight chest loosened.

"What?" Harry's mirth was giving him a hard time in keeping his voice steady. Trust his best mate to cheer him up considerably, even if it was through his unintentionally amusing facial expressions and foul mouth. "Showing off your crooked fingers isn't very intimidating, mate."

Ron rolled onto his back, tucking his hands under his head; having a bit of a sulk at his long and knuckled fingers being insulted so rudely.

"Come on, get up." Harry held up his hands as Ron threw him a betrayed look. "We've Transfiguration first thing."

"Harsh, Harry," Dean commented, shaking his head with a grin as he made his way to the bathroom. Everyone else gave noises of agreement, seemingly having got up as well; Seamus' muffled snickering from where his head was being pulled through his grey jumper and Neville only glancing up with a little smile before going back to watering a new plant which resembled a miniaturised palm tree.

Ron groaned and threw his duvet off with a theatrical shove. "Don't remind me." He gave a put upon sigh as he gathered things for a shower. "A double period with Slytherin! As if we haven't been tortured enough with Potions yesterday."

Seamus gave a loud whoop as he finally managed to tug his head out of the too small jumper. "Speak for yourself, mate," he said. "Should've dropped the subject like me and Neville here." He shook his head in mock pity and pat Ron on the head, who pulled away to escape into the bathroom with a scarlet scowl.

"That goes for you as well, Thomas!" Seamus raised his voice a bit so that Dean could hear him through the bathroom door. "Bloody swots, the lot of you."

"That's not very fair, Seamus." Neville's soft tone was just a bit louder than that of Dean muttering from beyond the door. "I'd have liked to be in Potions, myself. I imagine Professor Slughorn to be loads better than Snape. Right, Harry?"

Harry nodded immediately before pausing and grimacing a bit. The mention of Slughorn had him once again thinking of his botched attempt yesterday, and the thing with Zabini afterwards. He hadn't yet been able to think clearly on it, and right then his head felt full to bursting.

"Yeah, you could've tried for the class though, Neville. We didn't get Outstandings on our OWLs but he still let me and Ron in."

Neville shook his head and turned quickly for his bag. Harry noticed the back of his neck was quite red.

"Nah, I couldn't have done with the Troll I got," he said in an embarrassed mumble. "Gran wasn't pleased even when I tried explaining how hard it is to concentrate on an exam with someone glaring at you from a dark corner."

"Well, you're not wrong, mate," Ron agreed, stepping back into the room with his hair dripping from what was clearly just a quick hop in the shower. "I have no idea how we managed to concentrate with the sour old bat watching us. Let alone get a good mark."  

He shrugged and lifted his bag onto his shoulder while his other hand fiddled with his tie; motioning his head towards the door for Harry to follow him.

"Sorry, Neville," Harry offered weakly, feeling bad for the way the boy's shoulders had slumped in remembered disappointment.  

He left to the sound of Seamus sharing a rude joke in his weird way of apologising. From the sounds of it, he managed to get Neville to laugh, albeit in a subdued manner.

Ron prattled on about Quidditch plays, oblivious at how his flippant words to Neville had been close to dissing. Well, he supposed he hadn't been much better, empty platitudes and all that, so he couldn't really fault his clueless friend. And, to be fair, he had been the one to bring Neville's failure to light.

It made him think on the DA again; Neville had flourished there and Harry wondered that maybe he needed that bit of confidence again. Harry, himself, could use some of it.

What had it been that Zabini had said those weeks ago? That he had lost his fire. Perhaps he had but, then, what did Zabini know? Even still, he did feel a bit more fired up after deciding fully to commit to the DA again.

After the horrible way he had woken up he had only been convinced all the more.

Making it to the common room, the two of them were almost immediately attacked by bushy hair and flying pieces of parchment. Hermione snatched one of the scattering pages with near seeker like skill and held it up under Harry's nose.

Harry squinted at the words before realising it had a very brief list of the attributes of Horcruxes.

  1. Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction. …??
  2. It destroys the soul (how??), thus (probably) rendering the wielder (user? victim? how does it work??) unable to form a soulbond.



"The first one is word for word copied from the only book which mentions Horcruxes at all. Can you believe it? Completely unhelpful!" Hermione kept her voice to a low volume, whispering the word Horcruxes to a near inaudible level. "And the second point is from what you told us. But it's not very useful either - since we've got no idea how it does so, only that it supposedly does."

Harry shied away from Hermione's voluminous hair and smiled with strained force at the words. He could feel his mood plummeting again at Horcrux talk and desperately tried holding onto his earlier amusement. The only humorous thing to focus on was the punctured places on the parchment where Hermione had frustratingly lamented the lack of real information.

"Are you sure there wasn't anything else you could have missed? Nothing else Slughorn might have let slip?" Ron asked as he peeked over at the parchment when Harry tucked it into his robes.

"Yeah,” said Harry, absently making a note to chuck the thing away. “Why’d you write it down, though? You’ve got a perfect memory, haven’t you, Hermione?”

“Not perfect.” Hermione waved the compliment away, an embarrassed mumble in her words even as she straightened fully as she turned to Ron. “I’ve got something to pick up in the library. Would you mind terribly…?”  

Whereas before, Ron might have protested indignantly he merely gave a sigh and smiled with indulgence. Hermione beamed, and the two of them gave each other an odd hug around the small of their backs before she rushed off. Harry quirked an eyebrow as he eyed the nauseating look of happiness on Ron’s face.

“What, no snog for goodbye?”

“Shut up.” Ron swatted at him weakly and Harry deftly avoided it, laughing. “Besides, the feeling of touching each other’s tattoos is more satisfying than any kiss.”

Harry pulled a face, though he was intrigued despite himself. “Yeah? That connection thing Hermione spoke of?”

Ron looked at him from the corner of his eye as they walked through the portrait hole, making their way to the Great Hall. “Yes. I dunno if she told you much but it’s sort of like an exchange, you know?”

“Of magic?” Harry thought of the fact that only witches and wizards were allowed the bond.

“Kind of,” said Ron, an expression of thought pursing his mouth side to side. “That, and like, emotions, I guess.”

“Emotions?”

"Sort of, yeah. It's like saying 'hello'."

"Huh. Saying, 'hello, Ron, I'm off to the library'. Makes sense."

"Git." Ron shook his head in laughter. "No. Listen, it's like talking but without saying anything."

"Is it always like that, then?" Harry thought recalled having read something like that, though it had been something like 'soul energy' or whatever.

"Pretty much." Ron scratched his ear, only to abruptly avoid a tiny Gryffindor barrelling their way. "Oi!" he barely managed to shout before the boy rounded a corner. "Bloody first years. Also, no. I mean, it is, somewhat. Hang on."

Harry was stopped by Ron's hand on his shoulder; he gave a questioning look.

"It's different for everyone," said Ron. "For us, we don't always understand each other. But through the bond, it sort of helps us to, you know?"

"Yeah," said Harry, surprising himself by the somewhat wistful tone of his voice. "But there's more to it than that, isn't it?"

"I suppose," said Ron slowly, an inscrutable look on his face. "Harry, you're really confusing. I wonder if you know that?"

Harry startled under the hand of Ron. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean..." Ron firmed his hold, eyes fixed on the flex of his fingers. "At one point you're making arguments against this," he gestured with his other hand, "whole thing with soulmates. And then you go all... I dunno, upset? With yourself and Hermione and the bloody universe for depriving you of one."

"Sorry," said Harry, apologising more reflexively against a perceived slight against his best mate's soulmate; not knowing where to begin with the other points. It left him feeling as fed up with himself as Ron had suggested. He curled away from Ron, raw to the touch.  

"No, don't do that." Ron sounded frustrated and, when Harry turned to look at him, his face reflected it well as he ran a hand through his fiery hair. “Look, I'm not saying you're not allowed to have different feelings on a matter. It's just… mate, what do you want?”

“I dunno what you mean.” The words felt separate from his lips in an odd way.

“Do you want a soulmate or not, Harry?” Ron asked him in blunt sort of way that had him feeling as though he'd been backed in a corner.

Harry looked away to a point past Ron’s shoulder and the words came unbidden to his lips, “I shouldn't.”

“What?” Ron lifted his hand away in startlement, allowing Harry to pull a step back almost immediately, as though he had been struggling the entire time.

“What's the point? I might not have one and there's the whole ethical issue about it that I just can't… wrap my head around.”

Ron nodded his head slowly, his face pulled into a frown normally reserved for chess matches. When Harry looked reluctant to speak further Ron prompted gently, “But…?”

Harry bit his lip and tugged at his hair savagely; Ron looked somewhat alarmed and concerned at the abuse Harry was inflicting on his own scalp.

“I don't know. It's just that sometimes there's this feeling in me… Well, no, in my _magic._ That just… _makes_ me. Feel,” Harry finished rather lamely, knowing he sounded stupid but not knowing how to describe it better. The best he could figure: the soul was tied to his magic. And, despite other reservations, had him envious and saddened at being denied completion. What a mess, Harry groused to himself silently.

“OK,” said Ron.

Harry’s head snapped to his friend, confusion rumbling his brow. “OK?”

“Yeah.” Ron shrugged. “Like I said, it doesn't _matter_ if you've gone all conflicted over it.”

Harry opened his mouth, unsure as to whether his problems were being stomped on but Ron continued on regardless.  

“I'm not saying the problem itself doesn't matter. Just that maybe you shouldn't worry so much about it. It'll work out.” He spread his hands in a carefree manner and grinned widely. “We're still young and have got other issues, besides.”

Harry sighed. “I can't do that, though. It's too much and I can't exactly shut my brain off, can I?”

“Then stop killing yourself over this. You can want something even if you find it unethical, deep down. Or not so deep down, whatever. Just go with it.”

Harry stared, mouth ajar in complete shock. Where on earth did this bloke come out of? The very same one who scorned Slytherins and anything to do with them? That he deemed unethical in nearly every way. Slowly, he closed his jaw before speaking. “That… I'm not sure if that makes sense.”

Ron shrugged, a sheepish look crossing his face. “Yeah. Maybe not. The point is, stop worrying so much. You're killing yourself.”

Harry grimaced. Was it even that easy? He had been walking around an utter mess of emotions and stress and… for what? Something insubstantial to him, an _idea_ he hadn't even thought on until talking to Hermione.

The thing was, his magic had been doing something. Not very noticeable most of the time but it _had_ been causing this conflict in him.

Funny that, Harry thought wryly. Just that morning his magic had been his only comfort after Voldemort.

“Come on.” Ron clapped him in the shoulder. “Let's go have breakfast.”

“Yeah.” Harry followed his friend, forcing the other the things to the back for later.

* * *

The Great Hall was halfway full when they stepped in, the majority of students seen at the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables while the empty spots at Hufflepuff and Gryffindor showed where most late sleepers hadn't arrived yet.

Ron sat down first and immediately started piling all manner of greasy foods onto his plate, sampling bites in between scoops of eggs and sausages.

Harry sat down more sedately and only took a few pieces of toast with jam and a bowl of porridge, having found them to be more filling than fried stuff. He had never been allowed to have bacon or eggs at the Dursley's and at Hogwarts he had found himself unable to stomach it.

As breakfast went on, seats at tables filled and the hall grew steadily louder with the sounds of cutlery against plates and students chatting. Hermione didn't seem to show but Neville, Seamus and Dean had managed to join them halfway through.

Soon enough the morning post had arrived, a multitude of different sized and coloured owls swooping in through the giant open window. Letters dropped down in front of their recipients, some of whom immediately discarded their food to open them while others merely set them aside casually.  

Neville was of the former, having received the Daily Prophet.

“Gran insisted,” he said at Ron’s pointed fork as they had never noticed him reading the paper before. Harry watched as Neville self consciously read the first headline, curiously concerned as his eyes widened and as he suddenly sat up straight.

He gasped even as his eyes continued to race through the article. His hand went limp and dropped the knut he had held out for the owl, which simply hooted in annoyance and snatched it up before taking off haughtily.

"What is it?" Harry asked, taking in the pale look on Neville’s face worriedly. Half remembered dreams from the night before giving him an idea of what the article was about. The thing was - Harry had no doubt that Voldemort had been up to horrid things - only, he had been so silent up until now.

Without a word, Neville looked up at him and spread the paper on the table at an angle that let them all read it; Ron budged over and the others huddled around to read with him.

TWELVE MUTILATED BODIES FOUND IN A BOTCHED CLEANSING RITUAL.

Below the headline, which may well have been screaming the ugly words, was a gruesome yet rather vague image of a heavily wounded leg and half a torso. The picture was taken so that only one half of the body was shown, with an arm seemingly blown into a stump and the head purposely out of frame. The black and white shades could not mistake the darkened colour of blood, which sluggishly dripped over and over as the picture moved.

"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed, the same being echoed by Dean and Seamus. Harry winced at the sound right by his ear, but he couldn't agree more. The headline was rather confusing but paired with the visual was horrifying all the same.

The article went on to explain how a magical explosion had brought Aurors to an unspecified location (no doubt unmentioned to prevent any nosey people from 'exploring'), where twelve bodies of wizards had been found. There was a bit of magic jargon quoted from a runes master that went over Harry's head entirely - basically stating that the markings on the ground of the site and on the deceased bodies indicated a 'soul cleansing' ritual. One that apparently had gone out of fashion due to a high death toll; Harry snorted mirthlessly, 'out of fashion' indeed.

Overall Harry wasn't very impressed by what the ritual seemed to be meant for. It was exactly as the name suggested: a means to cleanse one's soul and, in most uses, to completely rid oneself of a soulmate. All without resorting to mutilating the soul; in fact it seemed as though it did the opposite. Harry thought it borderline though, in the way that bleach cleaned yet copious amounts were potent and burned.   

For a moment, Harry just sat staring at the page blankly. Just how desperate must anyone be to risk such insanity?

From what limited information the Prophet was allowed to print, it was utter dark magic bollocks. Harry curled a bit on himself in revulsion before reading further.

It turned out that after thorough investigation, the tattoos of the twelve wizards, of whom were all pureblood, had matched up to twelve muggleborn witches and wizards. Harry would have loved to be surprised but only felt grim instead.

Other than that there was nothing more of note, bar a little paragraph at the end which suggested that the ritual was notoriously difficult to complete and required the entire dedication of the soul 'lest you end up dead'. Harry raised an eyebrow, surely then it could not be consensual in the least - there was no way twelve wizards had decided to take the effort to go through with the ritual only to decide halfway through that they would rather not. It made no sense.

Harry traced through the article once more, looking for anything he could have missed but found nothing. Either Voldemort had left no clues whatsoever - likely - or he had left clues and they had just covered it up - also likely, the Prophet seemed to enjoy leaving the masses uninformed. Surprisingly, no Dark Mark had been found.

As it was, the entire article was just enough to allude to something else going on but not enough to cause a full blown panic.

"This muggleborn soulmate bit is suspicious." Harry looked up to find his friends staring at him. "I doubt it's a coincidence. Voldemort is a bigoted prat, after all."

Flinches were to be expected and Harry ignored them accordingly; more curious about their reactions to the article.

Neville was the first to speak up, still looking quite pale but meeting Harry’s eyes head on. “You might be right, Harry. But what does it mean? Why…” he hesitated, here, but Harry nodded at him to continue, “Don’t you think he might’ve targeted muggleborn specifically?”

Harry bit his lip in thought. He rather thought so too. It seemed directly against Voldemort’s goals to kill off purebloods - as they were supposedly the ‘superior race’. Although couldn’t disregard the fact that his semi-vision might have something to do with the incident.

“Reckon they were Death Eaters, then?” Harry wondered. They seemed the most likely to attempt a dark ritual like that - arrogant enough to disregard potential dangers for their purposes. “Doesn’t say anything about the Dark Mark, though.”

“Maybe they stopped it from being published,” suggested Dean, a slightly pinched look on his face as his eyes scattered to and from the gory image. “To be honest, it can’t be very good for your reputation as a Death Eater to have a soulmate with ‘filthy’ blood.”

They all grimaced at that and Seamus cuffed Dean around the head, giving a nearly playful stern glare. Dean held up his hands, his mouth twitching at the corners.

“I’m not caring about that, honest. I’m proud to be mostly a muggleborn.”

There was still a tense atmosphere around them; none of them able to stop thinking on the article and what it meant, though Neville had determinedly flipped over the front page to begin reading the rest of the paper.

Harry looked around the Great Hall, trying to discern the general reaction to the article by their faces and gestures.

Their reactions varied but there was a few notable groups at each table. Harry had come to find that there were common misconceptions about the other Houses that had morphed into stereotypes. While he didn't often like to hold to such things, some of them had come to life in mass reactions such as these.

Quite a few of those be saw at his own table looked a bit like they had lost blood in their faces while others had gained colour as they talked heatedly in loud tones amongst each other. The Prophet had been spread in front of some of the younger students as they huddled around to watch the picture. Most looked as though they had already read the article and were watching a great horror occurring repeatedly.

Plates at the Hufflepuff table had been pushed to the centre of the table as some seemed off their food. While some took to comforting their friends, others were talking in what looked like hushed tones with confusion and shock spread across their faces.

The Ravenclaws had taken to talking over one another rather loudly and if they were seated closer to Gryffindor Harry thought they might have rivaled them in volume. Harry also noticed one fifth year Ravenclaw meticulously cutting out the article before placing it in a file filled with clippings of all sorts.

The Slytherin table was by far, and unsurprisingly, the most subdued of all the four. Harry didn't think it was fear or shock; though he did see distaste amongst the older students. Whether it was over the abhorrence over cutting a soulmate or that the wizards were pureblood - well, he really couldn't say.

It brought another thought, though. Harry did think the entire wizarding community put soulmates on a pedestal but besides that, it was still a big part of their heritage. If he were to guess, he would say it was more so for the purebloods. After all, it made them different from the muggles and muggleborn, like he had been raised, didn't understand it the same way. Hermione was an exception, as she always was, but he remembered from first year how incredulous Dean had been. He had thought it a joke, like the muggle fairytales regaling True Love.

Which was why the actions of the Death Eaters were rather counterproductive, Harry thought. Hermione had said murder was a way to tear the soul and death was all Voldemort and his followers caused. It was a wonder killing wasn't more repugnant to them - if only for the reason of not cutting off a soulbond.

Harry wondered about that as he continued looking over at the Slytherin table. His gaze stopped at Malfoy, who was a peculiarity amongst his House mates. He made no outwardly large gestures but his face was curiously expressive in his evil glee. No doubt he favoured death over a muggleborn soulmate. He clearly gave no care that his smug sneer was inappropriate to the other Houses. He was always like that - bravely showcasing his disdain for muggles and the muggleborn without worrying over his true allegiances being known.

While nearly everyone already knew that Slytherin had the most ties to Voldemort, the House of snakes still held firm in keeping discreet. This year especially had them less vocal about the support of Dark ideals. It was a thin cover at best but they kept themselves safe by not giving any sort of evidence.

Not to mention the fact that a few of them already had relatives stuck in Azkaban. Malfoy senior was among those captured at the Ministry and, while Harry might have thought Malfoy would be more subdued, he continued to spout off bigotry.

Harry looked away in disgust, his eyes immediately being drawn to another pair. From where he sat he could not make out the colour, but all the same he almost found himself counting the gold specks from memory.

Zabini was looking back at him, Harry noticed. The Prophet was set before him but he paid it no mind, raising a brow in acknowledgment of Harry staring. There was no apology nor any discomfort in his posture - from the way their confrontation had ended yesterday, Harry might have thought he would have rather evaded his gaze.

Zabini trailed his eyes over him as Harry held still, nearly vibrating out of seat in uncertainty, before flicking his eyes away in an almost dismissive gesture.

Harry fought the urge to do something stupid like march up to Zabini and- something. Different reactions rattled in his chest; perhaps he would grab him by his robes in a way that was as uncomfortable as yesterday had been, ask him what he was playing at, demand he leave Harry to his previous existence.

When he finally looked away, his face pale and a ready smile to appease his friends, his hands clenched in phantom memory of the heat from another pair of hands that were unnaturally warm.

* * *

_Midmorning_

What had already started as a grey and watery day, continued onto darkened skies and drafty corridors as they moved to Transfiguration. Harry and his two best mates - Hermione having caught up with them eventually - stuck to isolated areas of the castle and though they had to constantly maintain warming charms on their clothes they avoided the masses - who continued to whisper about the front page article.

Mostly Harry wished to be away from curious eyes; it seemed when the initial shock had worn off many had turned to him, as though he had all the answers straight from Voldemort's twisted mind.

Granted, it was true that he had seen something from Voldemort but nobody besides Ron and Hermione knew about the connection. And except for a single enquiry about any visions, to which he had responded with an immediate lie, they hadn't bothered him with any of that.  

But of course he was either a barmy attention seeker or the massively all-knowing Chosen One. Harry wasn't sure whether the rest of the student body had realised the attack was the doing of Voldemort or, at least, leftover Death Eaters but they still expected him to have some sort of insight on it.

Some of his classmates stood along the walls beside the closed classroom door, leisurely chatting with their mates while waiting on McGonagall. As they were mostly of his own Housemates, Harry was left well alone. For the most part, that was; for he had not forgotten that they were to share the lesson with Slytherin.

It looked as though it had slipped Malfoy's mind, though, as he stood up sharply from where he had been attempting a gracefully careless sprawl against the wall. Harry thought he only looked like a pompous arse. Certainly nothing on a young confident Riddle and hardly worth a comparison to the effortless poise of Zabini. Harry glanced for a second at the dark boy before scowling at himself. Zabini had not even deigned to look at anyone, let alone him; his eyes were fixed on the dark grey of the large window.

"Potty," started Malfoy in a snooty drawl and his lips twisted in an ugly grin, which Harry only felt a passing annoyance at.

"Malfoy," said Harry shortly though his hand curled around the wand in his pocket. Ron pressed in by his shoulder for a moment before moving away, staying rather uncharacteristically quiet. Harry felt the same - he was in no mood to deal with smug prats this early in a miserably cold day.

"Everyone has seen the Prophet." Malfoy passed a look at the Gryffindors and then his fellow Slytherins, his mouth curled in way as though sharing a massive joke. Though really only Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and a dark haired girl he didn't know the name of shared in his amusement.

That very tall girl, who owned the cat that Hermione had accidentally used in her Polyjuice potion back in second year, stood off to the side with another girl. The two of them were conversing in quiet tones and, Harry noted in surprise, holding hands as their heads bent together.

Nott was close next to Zabini and once more they were not talking but the shorter, though still quite tall, was watching the scene with narrowed eyes through his thick fringe; hair a more golden shade than Malfoy's blond.

"What did you think, Weasel?" Malfoy turned his attention to Ron, who bristled, waiting for the insult he was building up to. Malfoy scowled, despite his remarks being quite tame and hardly worth a reaction so far.

"Not scared, then, are you?" he asked. "I rather thought you should be. With your little Mudblood it might be you next."

Harry grit his teeth; Malfoy’s words reminded him of the whole 'it'll be you next mudbloods' thing with the Chamber. He made to draw his wand, not sure if it would come to exchanging spells.

“And you, Potter." Here, Malfoy turned his gaze directly to Harry again. His pale eyes were eerily similar to Luna’s in that they held an uncomfortable knowing and curiosity yet none of her comfort. “I wonder if you know what the Dark L-“

Before he could finish, a long line of dark wood was digging right into his side and it wasn’t Harry’s wand. It didn’t belong to any of their side either, none of Harry’s Housemates had moved from the cluster that had formed from behind him. But one of the Slytherins had moved; Nott, who had so far stood silently by the window along with Zabini, now spoke into the stunned silence.

“I’d watch it, if I were you.” His voice was soft, a near whisper that still everyone heard.

Malfoy blinked at him, quite taken aback himself, looking between the wand and Nott’s hidden eyes. From the corner of Harry’s eyes – not taking his eyes off the two Slytherins – Zabini had shifted away from the window to watch as well. With the movement, Malfoy's head swivelled to him, a scowl then in place and, for some reason, he glanced at Harry before turning with his nose in the air.

Seemingly satisfied at Malfoy’s silence, Nott casually removed his wand and stepped away. Mere seconds later, the clacking of heels was heard and McGonagall briskly ordered them into the now open door. The tense air trickled away as the students reluctantly accepted the end of the rather odd dispute and moved into the class; Harry more so than the others as he straggled behind.  

As Harry followed Ron and Hermione, he couldn’t help but look back at the last two to enter. The two heads of curly black and straight blond were angled in a way that showed an intense conversation. Harry couldn’t see much of Nott’s expression through his curtain-like hair but there was one, rather surprisingly, on Zabini’s face. An uncomfortable line pulled at his tightened mouth and his sharp eyebrows were drawn in a way that emphasised the pointed edges; they hinted at, for some reason, embarrassment.

Harry just started turning away, feeling an equal amount of discomfort settling in his stomach, when Nott lifted his head with an air of finality. Nott paused, then his fingers slid into his fringe, lifting it enough for Harry to see unfathomable dark blue eyes. Harry scowled, feeling unsettled by the depth of the colour, and firmly twisted away on his heel.

Zabini had not looked up him; for all the world unaware Harry had been there to begin with.

* * *

_Afternoon_

“Potter!”

In his experience, anyone calling him by his surname was not a friend. More than likely it was either a Slytherin or a teacher, and the sound of the voice was young as a Professor’s wouldn’t be.

He turned to look anyway, though, as it wasn’t one he recognised yet it still held traces of familiarity to it. What little sunlight piercing through the heavy clouds highlighted the golden sheen that Harry associated with Nott.

A lanky arm was lifted, long fingers curled into a fist and Harry winced reflexively before realising no blow was to come. Which was a relief, really, but all the more strange for the fact that Nott held his hand as though for a fistbump.

Harry frowned and gave his own hands a cursory glance; they were filthy - covered in the residue from a plant which only washed off with a special soap that Professor Sprout had provided them with. He had nicked a portion of it and planned to wash his hands in the nearest loo after class. He could have done so right outside the Greenhouses but Ron and Hermione had started arguing so he had legged it before they could rope him in the their petty bickering.

"Um," said Harry and gave a sort of baffled shrug of his shoulders. From behind his mass of hair, Harry could tell Nott was judging him.

"You're Zabini's mate, yeah?" Harry asked, for lack of anything else to say, ignoring the outstretched hand that he had no idea what to do with.

When Nott swiped strands out of his eyes, it was to grace him with a pointed incredulous stare. Harry rolled his eyes; he wondered whether Slytherins took some kind of lesson in speaking solely with their eyes. Stare downs should be a usual thing in their Common room.   

"This is yours, I believe," said Nott, shaking his fist alarmingly near to Harry's face. Harry was about ready to pull out his wand, feeling inordinately threatened, before comprehension dawned. There was a bit of parchment sticking out the sides of Nott's clenched hand.  

His confusion mounting, Harry held out a hand for the item. Reading the words, he felt his blood run cold.

The parchment was his - or well, Hermione's. It was the list of Horcrux properties; which was woefully short, but still suspicious to be in their possession. His hands went to the inner pocket of his robe and, finding nothing but a scrap of soap, he groaned inwardly.

Harry considered feigning ignorance but from the smirk tugging at Nott's mouth he thought it would be pointless.

"How did you...?"

"How did I know it was yours?" He said it in a way that belied impatience at Harry's lack of eloquence.

"Uh, yeah." Harry crumpled the already wrinkled bit of paper and wished he had incendio’d it earlier.

"I happened upon it just as it fell from your robes." Nott waved a hand and, though his gestures seemed less hostile now that Harry knew he was not about to be pummelled, only being able to see his nose and alarmingly pointed teeth was disconcerting.

"Well, what were you doing out here?" Harry eyed the tall boy warily. "We don't share Herbology."

"For the love of Morgana, not everyone is out to get you, Potter." Nott tilted his head, fringe swaying away to show his widened eyes. The gauntness of his face were brightened almost innocently by the large blue irises. "I was out for a walk, if you must know. It's my free period, you see."

"Right." Harry narrowed his eyes. "Sorry, if I don't trust you, seeing as there are people out to get me. Most of them being your lot."

"My lot."

"Yeah, you know what I mean. Don't think I didn't notice what you stopped Malfoy from saying earlier. Can't have the loudmouth prat spilling your precious Voldemort's plans, can you?"

Nott hissed at the name and his incisors flashed dangerously. "You've no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah? Your dad's not in Azkaban, then?"

"Don't be daft, Potter. My father's a solicitor."

"What? He talked himself out of prison? Even worse."

Nott’s tone turned confused. “What? No. He's never been in prison."

Harry paused, his mind tracing back to last year. He was pretty confident that the name 'Nott' had been mentioned by one of the other Death Eaters back at the Department. And later on in the article from the Prophet.

"Alright, let's say you're right." Harry ignored the mutter of 'of course i'm right, i saw him at christmas didn't i'. "That still doesn't explain what happened back there. What was Malfoy going to say?"

"I'm only going to say this once, since I'm sure you've been told plenty of times before: mind your own business." Nott emphasised his point by tossing the hair out his face so Harry could see the serious furrow of his eyebrows. His hair was as much a mask as Zabini's, albeit one much like a physical one which he whipped on and off with ease.

"It is my business, though," Harry insisted. "Whatever Malfoy was on about had to do with me."

"Well, any case, it's none of his business." Nott turned with purpose, staring over his shoulder at something Harry couldn't make out. "Nor is it my place. Talk to Blaise."

"What?" Harry felt a spike of alarm and his eyes widened. "What's Blaise- I mean Zabini, got to do with it? Nott." Harry tugged at his sleeve, feeling irrationally infuriated at the sudden amusement in Nott's smile. "Voldemort. Tell me, is he...?"

"Would you stop using his name?" Nott pulled his arm out of grasp but the words weren't said with anger. "And, calm down, anyway. It's not like you're thinking but talk to him, all the same."

"Oh." Harry's shoulders relaxed, feeling inexplicably relieved. He then straightened up, a heat in his face as he remembered. "Um, not that it matters. Just, Voldemort is horrid."

"Honestly." Nott sighed, sounding exasperated before he seemingly gave up and tilted his head. His eyes were wide again and Harry rather thought them to be laughing at him. "That's cute, though. Blaise had said- but, anyway. Do as I said."

"Don't tell me what to do," said Harry, bristling. If he wanted to talk to Zabini he would. And if Nott wouldn't tell him why, he saw no reason to meekly acquiesce. Besides, he didn't like the way Nott had started saying something about Zabini only to stop. What had Zabini said about him?

"Is that a thing with you Gryffindors or just you, Potter? Really, I'm not telling you what to do." Nott paused, tilting his head back and forth. "Alright, I can see how it might sound like I am. Sorry, bad habit. I'm just advising you. But I suppose it doesn't matter. Talk to him or don't.  Either way, he'll be speaking with you."

"Merlin, what is it with all this ominousness," Harry muttered. "Why are you doing this?"

“Honestly?”

“Yes, _honestly,_ ” Harry grit out.

“Well, honestly…” Nott tilted his head one more time, just enough to glimpse the crinkles around his eyes, before turning to the sky. “Sorry, can't say.”

“You're impossible,” said Harry tiredly, his shoulders losing their tenseness in his resignation. _Slytherins._

“Look out for an owl, would you?” said Nott, apropos of nothing.

“What, now?” Harry searched the sky just as Nott seemed to be doing but there was nothing but grey once more.

“Don't be dim, Potter. At breakfast.”

“OK…?” He decided on ignoring the ‘dim’ part, entirely used to hearing the like from Slytherins.  

“Good.”

And that was the end of _that_ weird conversation. Not that Harry had gleaned anything of much value. Although, he supposed, he should check up on that bit about Nott’s dad. Remus would likely know; Harry hadn't spoken to the man in ages.

* * *

 

_Midnight_

Harry could not sleep. Well, he might have found that he could sleep - if he were to try. He felt the dreams could wait until later, however - when he was bone tired and less likely to remember them.

Walking through the halls, he came across no one besides a few forlorn ghosts floating by idly. Under his invisibility cloak he was just another spectre, though far more alone, as they could not acknowledge him as he silently did them.

Dim globes of light floated as torches in their sconces, placed just strategically enough that bare stretches of wall and floor remained in shadows. His footsteps were muffled enough not to echo and the silence stretched around him as the cold travelled up his cloak in sly whispers. It was this that had any sound immediately catching his attention; and such that he was quite a ways when he caught sight of a hushed conversation taking place further down the corridor.

Harry stopped, fumbling in his pocket for the map as the figures were darkened enough for him not to make out who they were.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he whispered as he tapped his wand against the parchment.

Black ink swirled for a few seconds before tracing their path into lined corridors and a few rare words. He followed his name to the two dots upward: _Draco Malfoy_ and _Blaise Zabini._

Harry’s eyes widened at that, his curiosity stronger than before. Quickly pocketing the map and checking that the muffling spell held firm, he took off down the hall.

Though he had seen their names on the map, it was still startling seeing the two of them standing so close to one another - especially as before, he had always seen a great barrier between the two, whether of glares or the numerous sidekicks surrounding Malfoy.

As Harry neared the two he realised that their words were not hushed but were rather muffled. Their mouths moved but all sounds coming from them were distorted and made no sense to Harry.

Harry frowned, feeling slightly put out by this, but before he could make another move Zabini was moving - pushing past Malfoy roughly and in the opposite direction from where Harry stood. In the process, the protective shield created by the muffling spell was snapped and the sound of words flooded towards Harry.

Zabini seemed tightlipped, his usual blank mask in place, but Draco whispered fiercely, a horrible scowl almost distorting his words just as much. Creeping further, Harry strained to listen.

“Zabini, stop being so fucking selfish!” Draco growled, his face turning more vicious, uncaring that his words were there for anyone caring to listen. “The Dark Lord has threatened to kill my family.”

At that, Zabini’s blankness turned seemingly colder, a hard line forming at his mouth and the sharp eyebrows turning mockingly upwards. “I was not aware that I had anything to do with that, _Draco_. After all, as far as I have heard, that is fault of your father.”

Harry perked up at this exchange of words - remembering the conversation between Malfoy and Snape that, though still vague, confirmed his suspicions that Malfoy had a task to fulfil. And, at the beginning of the year, Malfoy had seemed adamant about avenging his father for Harry having got him incarcerated in Azkaban. Not that it was any of Harry’s fault - he didn’t ask for Malfoy Senior to attack him and he still felt it was a small price for those Death Eaters to pay. They deserved worse for the loss that Harry had endured; for still months after, the memory of Sirius falling through the veil was fresh and painful. Recent pains did nothing to diminish that.

Malfoy’s back straightened, a weak uncaring mask covering his face as he said, “My father’s mistakes are not my own. But the Dark Lord…” he hesitated, holes in his facade showing a flickering of pain and fear, “He seems to believe that I have a duty to uphold. But I am uncertain...”

“My, that was nearly a confession of treason, _Draco_. You might want to be careful of that.” Zabini’s eyes flickered around them and Harry nearly froze in shock - it almost looked like Zabini was staring straight at him. But that would be impossible, he tried to assure himself, the invisibility cloak was foolproof. “You wouldn’t want anyone to believe you anything but the perfect little Death Eater…”

Malfoy gave a bitter snort, not taking Zabini’s warning much seriously. “I don’t _care_. Do you hear me? What he asks of me is impossible.”

Zabini mocked his snort, though it was of a far more amused sort. “And you think that’s my problem?”

“Get over yourself, Zabini,” Draco sneered, becoming more of himself that he showed during the day. “The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

Harry coughed, finding it ironic for Malfoy, of all people, to accuse someone of such. Especially since he seemed to be begging Zabini to help him with something.

“Oh?” Zabini feigned casual inquiry but from what little light there was his eyes glittered dangerously. “Then what do you suppose this threatening stance you’re pulling on me is? You might want to explain yourself because, as of now, I find myself unimpressed.”

Malfoy’s mouth curled at being so belittled but Zabini remained firm; finally, Malfoy blew out a breath and took a step toward the other. Harry tensed, in case Malfoy tried something he knew that Zabini would be able to take care of himself, but still.

And on that point, Harry wondered why he was so forthcoming with Zabini. Zabini seemed to know what Malfoy’s supposed task was, or at least was about to. Malfoy didn’t seem the type to divulge any type of thing like that - for all that he loved to boast. What did he have that the pointy faced git needed so desperately? The thought had Harry wary, but still he listened.

“The Dark Lord…” Malfoy began once again, unsure this time on how to continue; the fear still lingered as he spoke Voldemort’s title. Then he scowled again, looking almost petulant. “You’ve been approached yourself, you must know what else he wants.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat but Zabini’s face remained carefully blank.

“Yes, you would think so, wouldn’t you?” Zabini spoke slowly, eyes tracking the minute expression on Malfoy’s face. “Considering _you_ were the one to approach him about _me_.”

“That’s not…” Malfoy faltered before bursting out with, “The Dark Lord is a very accomplished Legilimens.”

Zabini tsked, shaking his head mockingly. “So all those times you boasted about your superior skill at Occlumency were all lies? I must say, I’m not very surprised.”

As Zabini grew more contemptuous, Malfoy grew redder with frustration and embarrassment. “You don’t understand, it’s the Dark Lord! What would you have me do? Obliviate myself?”

Zabini then stepped forward, further into Malfoy’s space, his strong frame seeming to tower over the other boy though they were both of a similar height. His eyebrows were pointed than ever before, arching in his massive glower.

“Well, of course you can’t do that now. The damage has been done. And now, as I understand it, he has been made aware of something which he has not been meant to be privy to. Not to mention you know, as well.”

For his part, Malfoy didn’t cower away though Harry rather thought he should - though he did wince as Zabini’s wand threatened his throat. A deep pink line was beginning to form at his pale neck, which he then stepped hastily away from. Malfoy glared heatedly at the other, a hand massaging the mark that remained.

“What does it matter!” Malfoy spat. “It’s the life of my family, of my _mother_ , for your precious-”

“And that’s where you make the mistake of thinking that I care. Why should I? I always take care of my own. Rest assured, you’re not included in that.”

“The Dark Lord won’t kill _him_. He needs him for something else. But my mother, he will kill, if I fail.”

“And that’s your second mistake. Thinking that anything he has in store for what’s _mine_ won’t be worse than death. I will never let Voldemort come anywhere near him.”

Malfoy’s pale face contorted at that but said nothing, his jaw clenching and unclenching with suppressed emotion.

“Now,” Zabini brushed his robes off with indifference, putting his wand away with a confidence that spoke of a certainty that he would not be attacked. “If that was all? Pleasant though our conversations usually are, I need to sleep. Big day tomorrow, you understand.” He looked once over Malfoy, his lip curled. “You might try it for yourself. You look terrible.”

Malfoy spluttered unattractively for a few seconds before flouncing off in his usual prattish manner, his middle finger a dup high as a departing greeting.

Harry was just about to sneak off as well - he had rather a lot to think about after that - but Zabini had not moved. He was looking in Harry’s direction, though not directly at him, which gave him hope that he did not know for certain that he was there; merely suspected. Which was not too good but he could still slip away safely.

“Potter.”

Harry stopped, his first thought: _fuck_ . The second was: _how did Zabini manage to do that?_

He lingered for a moment. He might still be able to run off. After all, Zabini knew he was there - _somehow_ \- but surely he wouldn’t chase after him. Especially since he couldn’t exactly see Harry.

Then he remembered Nott’s words earlier. He didn't really want to obey his instruction but he couldn’t deny that he did want to talk to Zabini. If only to pry information from him.

With great reluctance that belied his anticipation, he took his cloak off - but only after first scurrying to a nearby shadowed space. He did not wish for Zabini to know of his greatest treasure.

“I have no idea how you keep doing that,” said Harry sulkily as he stepped into the light. He kept a reasonable distance between them, observing Zabini as he often did Harry. Who, at the moment, seemed to be returning the favour.

“I’m rather good with my nose.” Zabini tapped the side of his nose with a finger to emphasise this.

Harry scoffed in disbelief. “You’re saying you _smelt_ me? From all the way over there?”

Zabini shrugged uncaringly. “Trust your instincts.”

As an afterthought, Harry tried sniffing himself as discreetly as possible - for generally for people to notice your smell, that meant that you usually reeked. Finding nothing out of place, he looked up, once more to face a fleeting curled lip of amusement.

Harry sneered at him but otherwise said nothing to that. Zabini was impossible anyway.

“You should head back to your dorm,” said Zabini, turning to walk past Harry before halting, a strange look on his face as he peered in the direction that Malfoy had gone. “Perhaps I should walk you back.”

“Why?” Harry looked at him suspiciously.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

“No, why would I be?” he asked, then remembering how frosty he had become in defense of those he cared for. “Should I be?”

Zabini’s brown-gold eyes gauged him with a serious glint before they crinkled slightly in amusement. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

Harry nodded, silently questioning the odd tone paired with the drastic change in demeanour. He had been quite seriously condescending toward Malfoy a few minutes ago - not to mention just that bit scary.

“Let’s walk, then,” said Harry hesitantly. A few paces away and he couldn’t restrain himself. “What just happened?”

Zabini glanced at him, keeping an even pace with him despite the fact that he could have easily outstepped him with his ridiculously long legs.

“You mean just now, or before where you so rudely eavesdropped?”

“Now,” said Harry immediately. But then when he thought on it, “Well, both. And I didn't _rudely_ do anything, as you put it. To be honest it's not much different from yesterday, is it? Your muffling charm broke, so there.”

Zabini made a considering sound in the back of his throat while Harry tried to determine any change toward his words - whether he felt uncomfortable at the mention of how he had acted the day before.

To his surprise, there was one. Zabini wasn't making any eye contact with him for all that he kept glancing his way. And - there. He continued making a sound in his throat as though he was clearing it in discomfort.

Harry had to turn his head away, unable to keep a grin from breaking out. If Zabini noticed he didn't react; though Harry would pay to see the other blush and he often did.

“Well?” Harry prompted as they turned a corner and the silence had pervaded long enough.

“Walks around the castle always calm me enough before I go to sleep,” said Zabini as an answer to the first question. And Harry supposed it did well enough for him; he had been doing much the same before he came across the two Slytherins.  

“So…” Harry tried once more, though Zabini was more reluctant to answer the second. He then approached it f a mutual dislike between them to. “Malfoy is a git, then as usual.”

Unsatisfyingly, Zabini did not laugh as Harry wished him too. Well, he supposed,it hadn't been that funny. But sometimes Zabini needed a good laugh; he was entirely too serious.

“You could say that,” Zabini agreed. “Although I do understand his predicament.”

“What!” In his shock, Harry stopped walking. Only for Zabini to grab hold of his arm and steer him forward again. Harry huffed, pulling his arm away and continued by himself. “But, back there,” Harry pointed behind them, “you didn't seem too understanding. And Voldemort’s orders, what's to understand about that?”

“I know, but you wouldn't expect me to tell him that, would you? Not with what he wanted from me.”

At that point, they were both glancing at each other enough that Harry saw the flash of anger through his odd eyes.

“Voldemort…” Zabini frowned - and there it was again, no flinch at all accompanying the name. Harry found himself impressed. “He's insane. Don't think there's anything to understand about him. Which is why Malfoy, if he's got any self-preservation at all, should get himself out of there.”

“Oh,” said Harry, but there was still something bothering him. Malfoy could suck a toad for all he cared but Zabini seemed to be in a position to help him - he wondered at the reason that he hadn't. And the meaning behind the exchange that Voldemort sought. “Then… that person you spoke of, who is he?” 

“You haven't guessed?” Zabini returned, his tone indicating that he found that very amusing. 

“No.” Harry scowled. 

“What do you suppose is most important to us?” Harry began shaking his head, having no clue. “Think. To us, as wizards?” 

“Oh,” said Harry again, understanding that Zabini meant  _ soulmates.  _ “Your soulmate is a he, then?” 

“Yes.” Zabini narrowed his eyes slightly before shaking his head. “You haven't got some muggle hang ups on homosexuality, have you?” 

“No.” The thought hadn't even crossed his mind, though he did see how his casual question could have been taken like that. “Just asking, that's all. There is one thing though…” 

Zabini tilted his head in a ‘go on’ gesture. 

“You said, well, it's entirely between you and your soulmate, but…” 

Zabini nodded, turning his head fully this time to give Harry his full attention. Though why Zabini thought this to be the most serious topic Harry had no idea. 

“Well, no one ever takes this seriously, but did it ever occur to you that calling him ‘yours’ is a bit possessive?” 

Zabini frowned, eyes travelling along Harry’s face seemingly with more intent than ever before. 

“That bothers you, then?” 

“Well,  _ yeah,”  _ said Harry; confused as to why  _ anyone  _  would want such a term applied to them. The feeling of being owned causing to shiver more than the cold draft still lingering through the corridors. But, like he said, it was between Zabini and and his own soulmate. He was curious though. “Not that I care much of  _ he's  _ alright with it. I mean, I'm not your soulmate. Just, possessive much?” 

At the other boy's reaction Harry nearly stumbled a step and it was all he could do not to gape. For there, stretching across his cheeks, was a smile; gloriously bright and disarmingly charming on his already quite handsome face.

Harry swallowed dryly, sure that his breath had become a solid lump in his throat. He looked away, blinking at his own reaction.

“Yes,” said Zabini, bringing Harry out of his stupor. “I am quite possessive. But he should know that it goes both ways. If he wishes it he would be mine.” Harry braved looking back at Zabini, startled to see the smile still there. Only it seemed softened ever so slightly at his next words, “And he should also know that, even if he doesn't know it, that I will always be his in return.” 

Harry’s eyes widened, feeling an odd thrill accompanied by slight envy. “Why tell me this?”

“You asked.” Zabini looked away then, the smile vanished for a downturn of his lips. Harry watched the change with a small form of regret.  “This is your stop.”

“What?” 

Indeed, they were stood in front of the Fat Lady portrait, who was surprisingly not asleep. Harry sighed, wincing at her too curious eyes. 

“Thanks. For walking with me, I mean. And… the other stuff too.” 

Zabini seemed surprised, by his pointed eyebrows. “You're welcome… Potter.” 

Even though he used Harry’s surname as always, it was still a vast difference from the way he used Malfoy's first name. Harry felt inordinately warm at that.

“Good night.” Harry stepped into the portrait hole, which swung open without the password being said. What fortune, Harry thought. 

“Good night,” he just managed to catch before the door closed again.  

A smile tugged at his mouth - Zabini had managed to greet him this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had said that the previous chapter was one half of a rather long one - and that was true for a while. until i decided i hated it and started entirely anew.  
> once again, super sorry for the unreasonably long wait :(  
> not sure when the next one will be up, but hopefully not too long this time.  
> i hope you enjoyed it in any case. if you did, let me know! if you did not, let me know as well, please! thanks for all the lovely support, btw :p


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